


To Defy the Laws of Mortal Beings

by IllogicalLogician



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU, Assassin's Creed - Freeform, Assassin's Creed AU, Assassin's Creed III, Assassin's Creed: Revelations, Gen, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:56:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 73,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllogicalLogician/pseuds/IllogicalLogician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world has been saved by Desmond Miles, however the savior, the assassin, the man-- still lives. With the aid of his father and fellow assassins, both current and ancestors past, he will recover from the damage dealt to him in the past months. Like the assassins before him, he will rebuild the Brotherhood and lead them to triumph and defeat Juno and her plan to enslave humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Past Barriers of Time

Death was both everything and nothing that he was expecting. As the temple's power coursed through his body, it acting as a conduit for Juno to roam free, Desmond reflected in the only way a dying man could. He could almost laugh in the irony. He was their chosen one, the mortal who they _chose_ , after sifting through so many; they did so painstakingly, meticulously, as there was no mistake that he was the one to save the world. He had lived out his usefulness, then. Such an important individual for so long, and now, what was he but nothing?

Desmond supposed that he always expected death to come suddenly, painfully, before it was welcome. What else could be granted to one who chose the life of assassins? Ever since he was a boy, Desmond had feared he would die as he saw so many others, bloody and screaming and _suffering_... that's all the assassins had had to offer, right? As he had lived the lives of Altair and Ezio, he had begun to hope, that maybe-- as his sanity frayed and the end was clear-- that he would pass as they did, peacefully. After such a long life of pain and tumult, death might come as a sigh into sleep.

How Desmond had wanted to just _rest_. Ever since Abstergo had captured him, ever since he started seeing ghosts of spirits long past, since he would wake up from a fitful sleep _screaming_ , since he'd slip into archaic Arabic or Italian and sometimes forget his own name... he was tired. So, so very tired, and the saving of the world from the storm he'd heard no end of since his childhood was the only thing keeping him going.

Perhaps it was a noble way to die-- meaningful. Maybe with it, he made up for every other time that he had fucked everything up. Leaving home, leading Abstergo to the Pieces of Eden through his genetic memories in the animus, killing Lucy...

 _....God, Lucy..._ The memory sent a spike of remorse through his already fading psyche. He had failed _her_... Templar spy or not, she was the person who got him through so many nights when he didn't think he'd be able to hold it together any longer. She'd kept them _all_ together. _I'll keep you safe..._ he'd once said. An off handed comment, maybe a little flirtatious, but sincere. And he'd failed.

Maybe for all of his failures, he'd find penance in the fact that he hadn't failed to save the world.

Death was everything and nothing Desmond Miles thought it would be. There was unspeakable pain, destroying every fiber of his being with darts of light. The roar the temple emitted drowned out his own desperate cry of pain. Then, in seconds that felt like years, it stopped. Desmond felt nothing, and as the pain faded with the light from his eyes, Desmond was finally able to rest. So, in the end, death was both what he had feared-- and what he hadn't dared dream it would be.

Death was kind. It didn't dig up phantoms of memories and pain, or flash in front of his eyes all he could have done. Death was dark-- like the deepest sleep, one so peaceful that one couldn't recall a dream if they tried. It had been too long since Desmond had experienced such a thing. Desmond posthumously sighed as he reveled in the calm of darkness.

***

"We have to go back." William's voice was not suited for panic, yet the man before Shaun and Rebecca was anything but collected. None of them were. Their trek away from the temple had been a shock-ridden silence as the End came. At William's statement, they stopped, looking to the man with questioning eyes.

"We can't, William." Shaun's voice was curt.

"We can't just _leave him there_." William tried to push past Shaun, yet the latter caught his arm, keeping him put.

"That flare of energy was enough to stop the sun from destroying the planet. There's no doubt that the Templars will be upon the Temple faster than we can go back. It's lost to us Bill. It's all lost to us. I'm sorry." Shaun cleared his voice through its crack, desperately trying to blink away tears.

"He wouldn't leave us if the roles were switched."

"Last time I checked, they're not. And since when are you a 'what if' kind of guy?"

"Since my _son_ died to save this _godforsaken_ planet!" William quit trying to mask his grief.

"It's a death wish going back there." Rebecca interrupted them. "Let's not make his sacrifice in vain, okay? We have to keep going." A moment of silence passed, until Shaun spoke up.

"We should head towards the city. There's safety in numbers. We'll blend with the crowd and figure out what to do then. Until we get there, let's focus on staying alive, and getting out of this forest."

"I'm still the superior here." William said, standing his ground.

"Really, you're going to pull this shit?" Rebecca took a step forward.

"The Templars will take him if we don't, and do _god knows what_ with him. I'll go alone if you won't come with me." Rebecca cast her gaze to her feet. Shaun grit his teeth. He couldn't tell if he wanted less to risk an encounter with the Templars-- who undoubtedly had _weapons_ and _tracking systems_ when they had _nothing_ \-- or see the man who braved humanity's greatest fear to save it, to see him crumpled, broken, _dead_. The word hurt as much as a blade. Shaun had buried Brothers before, their own people; it never got easier. Especially with someone who hit so close to home. Shaun gave a helpless and longing look to both Rebecca and William. Rebecca spoke:

"You're right, William. Desmond deserves better than them." Shaun let out a sigh.

"If we start back now, we can make it back there by sunrise."

"Just in time to marvel at what we've sown."

"Your sarcasm is dually noted, Rebecca. I'm not seeing how it's going to get us any closer to the Temple before the Templars do."

"If it's decided, let's go." William's voice was firm, and back to the norm of a strained kind of collected. It felt more natural, more like than before... _everything went to shit_... He followed in silence as William turned and started walking in the direction they came.

It all felt so empty-- the race to find a downed Assassin before the enemy did, the journey through the most treacherous conditions-- all that worked for an essential _victory_. William knew what awaited them once they returned to the Temple, and he knew that he would never be prepared for such a thing. An Assassin knew that each person would only have so much time; it was a dangerous profession, and people-- good and bad alike-- died before their time. He had never thought it would happen to his son. He supposed that one never did.

There was nothing but death in that place; the place that was supposed to be a sanctuary turned into a tomb. William clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. He'd have to return to the Farm, to tell his wife... _how am I to tell her that our son is dead? That I failed to keep him safe?_ The dread made him shudder, even more so than the cold. There was silence in the night, the only thing interrupting it of the mournful journey were the sounds of their footfalls. Though there was no sound around them, whispers of remorse clouded his psyche. _I'm sorry, Desmond_. As if to mirror their cold, wrought out grief, sleet fell from above, coating the three in what seemed to be the sky's tears, giving remembrance for he who saved all of it. It was disgustingly poetic, William mused, yet he failed to shrug off the sentiment. It sounded like something Desmond would spout, half jesting, half serious. William grit his teeth as tears threatened him again. He, Shaun, and Rebecca continued on.

***

_The edge of the wooden platform seemed a gateway to the abyss. In the bitter cold that the desert's night blanketed the earth with, Altair shivered, even with his arms wrapped around his knees and his face buried in his cowel. The wind was unforgiving, so high up above all else of Masyaf. A place he had called home for so many years, under the watch of the man who had been father and mentor to a distraught child who had neither. For all Al Mualim had done, none of it mattered as the Apple had taken over. He quelled the nausea roiling in his gut as he thought yet again about the Apple's power, how it took hold of him, tearing him to pieces without truly touching him; he thought of how his hidden blade-- the sacred blade, given to him as an honor, by the very man he killed with it-- sank into the flesh of the Grandmaster, how vulnerable even the most powerful were. It was as if Al Mualim had just been another target, misguided and certain of themselves; did they really deserve to die?_

_It had been years since Altair had felt the same way after he had killed. Not able to sleep, with a constant bile rising in his throat, the ghosts of the newly deceased crying out for penance._

_Altair did nothing now to stop the defiant tears that had threatened him since the pyre had been lit. Al Mualim-- his_ father, mentor _\-- had burned, along with his memory. Altair couldn't help but feel the blame. Had he really been so blind to see how much Al Mualim's grasp had crumbled, so naive and brash and_ arrogant _... countless Brothers and innocent people were dead because of the Apple, because of Al Mualim, because of_ him _._

_"I'm sorry." Whispered to the lonely winter wind, it felt empty. Who was he apologizing to? He had no family to redeem himself to, no one who would be willing to forgive him-- only the fragments of a distraught Brotherhood were left to him; he could find no solace in that._

_"Such a strange place to repent-- yet for you, so fitting." Altair twitched in surprise, turning his head._

_"Malik. I told you to ride for Jerusalem to spread the word of Al Mualim's betrayal."_

_"I sent my men soon after we left as I came back."_

_"Those were specific orders."_

_"And last time I checked, the wisdom of a_ Dai _takes precedent over even a Master Assassin." Malik walked slowly to the edge of the platform. He sat next to Altair. "I am also not here as a member of our cause, but as a friend."_ A brother _._

_"The Brotherhood needs a truthful account of what has happened, and..." Malik rolled his eyes as he interrupted him._

_"Altair, while I ruefully respect the trust you have in me, trust my decisions as well. My men are honest and dependable. They will complete any task I give them."_

_"Why did you come back?"_

_"Because I'm worried, you idiot."_

_"That I'm not fit for this duty that has been thrust upon me?" Malik's expression darkened. He sighed._

_"Because I've been in your position before, and it's a frightening place. It's hard to limp out of when you're already suffering a thousand other wounds." Altair said nothing, only bowing his head lower. "I don't want you to do this alone."_

_"I'm fine, Malik."_

_"You are not."_

_"You don't know what I am."_

_"You are such a_ novice _." Malik grabbed Altair's shoulder, forcing the Master to face him. They met eyes for a moment-- Altair's petulant golden irises liquid with tears. At one time it would have satisfied him to no end to see Altair's stoic facade broken; now, the tears that streaked through the dirt on his face tightened Malik's chest with a familiar sense of grief._

_"Why did you come up here?" The harsh tone Malik had planned was softened by Altair's vulnerability. Altair said nothing, looking away. "Look at me, damnit. Why did you come up here?"_

_"To clear my head." Altair's voice was nearly obscured by the whistling of the wind._

_"Or to jump."_

_"I would...never." "_

_Don't lie to me, Ibn La'ahad. You can't honestly say that it hasn't crossed your mind." Malik let go of Altair's shoulder in his frustration, never taking his eyes off of the other as Altair turned his gaze to the skyline. They were both silent for what felt an eternity. Malik spoke again:_

_"Remember as novices how we would have nightmares about failing our Leaps of Faith, and how the others would taunt those that would be brought to tears because of their fear?" A ghost of a smirk crossed Altair's face. The sadness in his eyes became heavier as he remembered the days of innocence long past; the burden of death had been so few and far between in their days of youth._

_"Those nightmares turned to dreams at one point for me. When all I wanted was to fly again, to be free from the constraints and sorrows of mortality." Malik was shocked to see Altair's shoulders shaking, either with cold or his own sorrow, Malik couldn't tell. "What I'm saying is, I've been here before, Altair. On this very ledge, wondering how and when the world became so hard."_

_"I don't know what to do, Malik."_

_"You do what life allows you to-- learn from the mistakes of yourself and of others, and grow from them."_

_"I can't do it."_

_"Because you're incapable, or because you're too stubborn?"_

_"I can't do this alone." Altair had always been a lone eagle, loyal to the end, but never requesting or accepting help. Malik had accepted it, but his inconsideration still stung._

_"Why do you think I'm here?" Malik raised his arm, shaking his head at Altair's insolence._

_"No."_

_"No?"_

_"I..." Altair grit his teeth. "I can't put you through what I already have again. You claim that I've changed-- that the man before you isn't the same person who you faced in Solomon's Temple. People don't change, Malik." Malik contemplated Altair's sullen words._

_"What you speak is true. But that isn't to say that the man I see before me isn't different than the arrogant bastard who nearly cost us all everything."_

_"You're right; because I've now cost us everything I didn't before."_

_"Altair..."_

_"We have_ nothing _, Malik." The harshness in Altair's voice cut through his sadness. "There are rifts within the ranks of our brothers and who knows what the Templars are doing? Let alone here, the_ rest of the world _... You saw the map that the Apple projected. If the Templars want these Pieces of Eden, there are plenty for the taking. Who knows what kind of power they'll have, then?"_

 _The Apple burned as it rested in a pouch on his belt. There was such power that had driven even the best of men mad-- even subdued and disillusioned him for_ months _... There was such a promise of answers and solutions to even their mortal, petty problems; when the Apple held within it such a grander scale of profound knowledge that made Altair shudder. Such a blessing-- and a curse. It must have been what Al Mualim had been thinking as he succumbed to its temptation. The thought made Altair's nausea roil in the pit of his stomach yet._

_"You should destroy it." Malik said, his voice cold. Altair jolted from his reverie, only somewhat surprised that Malik was able to track his course of thought._

_"It has such potential for growth, for a chance for all of us to be better." Altair argued._

_"Yet it has the potential to destroy us all."_

_"As does a hidden blade given to a newly ranked Master Assassin."_

_"Overzealousness in both is not equal, Altair. We both know that."_

_"It feels wrong."_

_"As does wielding the power no one man should possess." Altair sighed, burying his face in his knees. Arguing yet would not bring him-- or them to a decision._

_"Have you ever thought about leaving, Malik?" Altair spoke after a while of silence._

_"The Brotherhood?"_

_"Yes. Just shedding your robes as an eagle molting its feathers and then leaving to live out a different life-- one that doesn't require us to make the decisions that are not for mortal men to make."_

_"No. Have you?" Altair let out a humourless chuckle._

_"The Assassins have been the only thing I have ever known. I cannot run from something that is my entire life. I didn't know if it was different for others, who..._ chose _this life after experiencing what it was like when you weren't trained to kill."_

_"Joining the Brotherhood never really seemed like a choice, I suppose. Rather-- an obligation, since there was nowhere else to go. Better to die a warrior than a beggar in the streets; at least that's what it had seemed like at one point. Even though it offered pain, it also offered salvation and protection. All things set aside, an eagle cannot just deny what it is because it is tired and wants to start anew. This life we've made ourselves is ours to form and mold, yet we cannot be rid of it."_

_"The robes of the_ Dai _suit you and your words well, Malik." Malik managed a small smile. Some of the desolation had seeped out of Altair's tone._

_"It's reassuring to hear that someone is listening. And you, of all people. Sometimes, I think that my words go through one ear and out the other of our new apprentices."_

_"Weren't we just as naive and brash at that age?"_

_"Altair, you're 26."_

_"And you not far away from it yet."_

_"What I'm saying is, you are still young enough to embody that. I suppose you'll stay that way until we're both old men."_

_"Supposing that we make it that far." Malik sighed. He stood, holding out his hand to Altair. "We won't if we stay out in this bitter cold. Come inside, we can discuss whatever we must there." Surprisingly, Altair took Malik's hand and stood without a word. The man beside him shivered in the cold winter wind. There was an impulse for Malik to reach around Altair's shoulders and warm him, offer him his Dai's robes and some form of solace; yet he knew that Altair would never take either while in front of wandering eyes and those who would so openly judge him. While in past months, past years Malik had sought nothing but to dash Altair's pride, it was in that moment that he let Altair keep it, or what little he had left of it. The dredges of fire that were still in Altair's soul needed to be kindled, and so they would be._

_The two descended the tower and walked to the main castle, opting for the chamber with the biggest hearth. Malik draped a blanket over Altair's shoulders as the latter curled in front of the fire, petulant golden eyes hardened along with his face. It was the face Altair had had since boyhood, hiding deep wounds in liquid amber. Neither said anything as Malik joined him, sitting with their shoulders touching, as they had when they were boys, half frozen from training in the snow._

_Altair would never admit it, but that night was one of the few that Malik's shoulder had been the most welcome for sleep._

As the light from a lone candle dimmed, Altair sighed, ignoring the way the breath shuddered and rattled in his chest. It echoed within the stone walls of his Library-- closed off from the rest of the world so only he could revel in his own demons and ghosts.

Of everything that had happened in a long ninety-two years, it seemed peculiar to him that he would remember a single night, years ago that felt centuries. Perhaps after all of the pain and suffering he'd seen, dealt, and faced, it was all he could do but feel gratitude-- not for his grievances, but for the small moments when loyalty was given to him; small instances with his loved ones were sometimes the only things that kept him going.

Now, it was all he could do to give thanks and ask forgiveness, though both were futile. Altair didn't know what lay before him, in the realm beyond life. Was it rebirth? Nothingness? Answers to all of his questions? Altair had seldom had a very strong desire to find out-- _except the moment Malik found you on that wooden platform._ Altair smiled, the bitterness of his friend's, _brother's_ death long since passed.

The library-- as Altair sat, cold and alone-- was filled with ghosts. It seemed they never left him. Maria, Sef, Malik... even the faintest silhouettes of Al Mualim and his Father followed him; every shadow and corner was filled with their memory as age blurred lines of earth and man. He used to run and climb and _fly_ to forget, to lose his grief, if only for an adrenalin-filled moment. Since his limbs stiffened and eyesight dimmed like an ancient lantern, he would see those lost blend with those still living. At first, it made Altair cringe, nightmares plaguing him along with breathless moments in waking-- shock for what he would see.

Of all of his failures, of all things that Altair could possibly regret-- as he would in his more youthful days, Altair felt no need for redemption. Whatever awaited him after his final breath, it would make no difference now what he felt. It seemed parts of his entire life were built of such feelings, yet he could not feel remorse for those. Altair couldn't tell if it was his fading strength that sapped away his will, or the contentedness that made him realize that all things happened for a reason, and the man he was would not be if not for everything that happened to him.

Altair never had much fear for death. He had expected it sooner; More likely it had seemed that it would happen in his youth, brash and arrogant and feeling invincible, unbreakable. He had expected it to be sudden, in the heat of battle, or afterwards when he was safe and among brothers within the walls of the Bureau. He never had the thought that he would be blessed so much as to die at home.

It felt a challenge in itself to feel the deterioration of his body, once so agile and able, now creaking and broken-- scars and phantom aches preventing him from moving as a Master Assassin should. All lives came to an end, but it was more painful to expect it, watch it slowly creep up, knowing that it will come, seeing its pain reflected in the eyes of all those surrounding him. _Do not grieve, Darim. I am but one man, my passing is no great tragedy. Many others will come and go; I am but one._ Perhaps this suffering was his redemption, his honor.

In the end, death seemed to be as birth; for Altair Ibn La'ahad, both were lonely. He was an infant without a mother, and an old man who sat within the stone walls of the only place he had ever considered home. Altair let his head fall to his chest, limbs feeling as heavy as the earth around him. His vision began to eternally gray, the lightheadedness of ascension cradling him and his weary bones.

Before he let out a final breath, a tear, both of sadness and happiness fell from his eyes. In life, Masyaf had been Altair Ibn La'ahad's home. But in death, his home was not in a place, but with his family. _Maria, Malik, Sef... I'm coming home._

***

"Just you, _fratello mio_." Ezio held the last key in his hands, a hollow forming and gripping his heart. So much toil, so much pain and death for answers, and now his journey had ended, in the same place the Grandmaster of Masyaf's had. _"Requiescat in Pace, Altair."_ The assassin's struggle continued, and would continue, but Ezio supposed he could feel content in that Altair had made a difference, and as he played his part, so he may as well. He straightened, eyes drawn to the golden glow that a far corner of the library was emitting.

"Another artifact..." The Apple that Altair had used to further the Brotherhood in ways no man could ever hope to dream. The promise of more answers, perhaps even to the future, tempted Ezio as it had when he was just a boy. A hologram appeared in front of him. _Desmond MIles..._ the name was whispered in his ear, and ethereal power filling the Library. Ezio had felt such power before, underneath the Sistine Chapel in the vault with Rodrigo. Since he had first heard the name _Desmond_ it had made him curious, a dulled anxiety in the back of his mind, a mystery always yearning to be solved.

It was a man who stood before him, one who was troubled, broken. He wore foreign and alien clothing, and yet Ezio felt he was looking into the eyes of a brother. _You have the power to save him, Ezio Auditore. He must be released so the catastrophe can be stopped._

"I have seen enough for one life." Ezio unstrapped his hidden blade bracers, something in his chest clenching when he remembered the hookblade, and the one who had wielded it. Ezio had seen enough death, he had served the assassins as much as he was able. There was still a chance for the normal life he had wanted. These strange beings who spoke to him and through him past the barriers of time assured him as much; if his entire journey was solely for this moment, for this _Desmond_ , then he would aid the one who would lead them to salvation. If Desmond were to save the world, then all of the suffering and death would be worth something. As if greeting and bidding farewell to a dear friend, Ezio's compassion spoke through centuries as he touched the hologram's shoulder. _Go, Desmond, and be the one who carries out this profound deed._

Energy surged from the hologram, through Ezio's hand and filling him with it. It overwhelmed his senses as a flash of light-- radiant as the sun illuminated the Library. There was a wash of vertigo as the light faded, and the only thing left to greet him was the black of unconsciousness.

***

Healing was slow. Even months after Connor's final encounter with Charles Lee, after his journey laced with slight vendetta had ended and he was able to rest-- he still hurt.

After he had miraculously made it back to the Homestead--hardly able to walk yet stubbornly pushing forward-- Dr. White had tended to him and confined him to bed. The first week or so had been easier, in a way; his wound was so extensive as to come to the verge of infection and nearly claiming him with fever. The ordeal had him weakened to the point of needing the other Homesteaders to take care of him. Connor had been shocked at their compassion. They had already done so much for him-- while he left for weeks at a time and sometimes went without seeing them for months. Connor would continuously vow to make it up to them, somehow, but all any of them ever said was _"you've done enough for us yet, Connor. Rest, you deserve it as much, if not more than us."_

After his fever had broken, he'd grown restless. Despite the fretting of the others-- Dr. White's the most stern, Connor wandered. The walls of the manor seemed stifling, closing in on him with its drafts and groans filled with his own regrets and ghosts. At first, he only went to the cliff that looked over the bay, the sunset it beheld as calming as it was when he and Achilles would sit and watch it before night fell and his rigorous training would begin again; or before a supper with the rest of the Homesteaders. Connor smiled as he remembered how happy it made the Old Man when he saw his manor repaired and free people prospering on his land. Tears would come to his eyes as the memory brought another; that Achilles had been the father Connor never had-- and the parent he'd gone so long without.

The weeks when his wound had yet to close underneath meticulous stitches were the hardest-- when Dr. White or Prudence or Norris or one of the others would find him weeping or near enough to it, and help him as he limped back to the Manor. It was those times when he felt the most vulnerable, the most unlike the ruthless warrior he'd trained himself to be and the most like the scared boy who had run to his burning village, crying for his mother.

The nights he woke up in the Manor were when he _was_ that scared little boy, though those he cried for were not always his mother. No matter how necessary it had been, it had _seemed_... he carried remorse for his Father, a man he hardly knew, for his lashing out at his mentor, for killing his childhood friend. How worthy was he of mercy if he had failed the only one's he had held so close to him-- his people, his family.

The Homestead felt like a family to Connor, yet he wanted to shout every time they assured him of his nobility, his humility. He had wronged so many, he had been betrayed so many times that he seldom kept trust in himself.

When his wound had started to scar and Dr. White had removed his stitches, Connor wandered farther. He couldn't take to the trees yet, the healed skin too weak to endure too much.

Just as his body hurt, he hurt spiritually as well. Connor spent his mornings having food coaxed to him by Prudence, or Myriam, or Ellen or those who owned the Mile's End Tavern. After he had managed to eat enough to their satisfaction, Connor would go on alone, wandering the forests of the Homestead until he tired-- for the longest time he felt nothing more than a small pup, the smallest bit of exertion exhausted him, and he'd need to rest. Connor would settle against the trunk of a tree or within a patch of long, meadow grass. Sometimes he'd ruefully look to the birds or the rabbits, envious of their freedom. _Is such absolute freedom even achievable?_

The days he wandered among the trees and hills of the Homestead were times when Connor would fall asleep there as well, the sound of the earth lulling him to sleep, sometimes to a more peaceful place than when he was confined to the walls and roof of the Manor. Open skies and wild vegetation reminded him of home, a place that was probably no longer there-- but thoughts of better, not the best, but better days calmed him. Hunting with Kanentó:kon, learning how to climb trees as swiftly as a mountain lion and to hunt as deftly as a wolf.

The first time one of the Homesteaders had found him sleeping in the forest, it had been Myriam. She scolded him like a child; insisting that he could be hurt by any of the wild animals roaming their land, or the elements could aggravate his slowly healing body. Not being able to summon the energy to protest, he endured as Dr. White worried after him as he returned to the Manor. Nonetheless, Connor continued to walk through the forests of his forged home, sleep coming to him often as his wearied body was forced to move. He had denied sleep for so long as his tasks were laid out before him; now that they were finished, his endurance left him quickly.

No matter how much he denied the Homesteader's concerns, Myriam's seemed to be the most grounded in fact, for one day Connor woke to a wolf only feet away from him. Connor jumped, reaching for his Tomahawk, afraid that he had not the strength to defend himself. The wolf, however, just stood, staring at Connor with piercing blue eyes. It bowed its head for a moment, as if it caught scent of something, and then darted away-- as if honoring Connor's mourning with its own form of mercy.

Months passed, and still a phantom-- yet deep ache still pained him as he pulled on his assassin robes and strapped his weapons to his belt, tightening his boot wraps and hidden blade bracers and pulling his bow and arrows over his back for travels he had been dreading. Connor knew he had to-- his obligation to his tribe did not end because he had failed.

Connor had heard rumors among the colonies that the Mohawk tribe had been driven West, out of their land, out of the Mohawk Valley they had so adamantly stayed within. The war had driven so many to things previously thought unimaginable.

There was a part of him that did not want to believe what he heard, it hurt too much to bear, so he maintained a vain hope he wouldn't find only desertion in the stead of the land that used to belong to his people.

Connor despaired as his fears and the rumors were confirmed. The strange ethereal being in the artifact left behind denied he had failed, when so clearly there was _nothing_ to be salvaged from all he had done. Why had he ever left? _Maybe they would still be here if I had not_. No matter how much the deed felt an obligation, it did not stop his regret.

He healed slowly, old wounds scarring as time went on. As flesh healed along with mind and spirit, Connor felt measurably freed when he was able to climb again, his inherent limp only troubling him after a careless or particularly jarring fall or Leap. He continued to work his body, training as an Assassin, assisting those in the colonies as he could; Achilles would have wanted him to.

His growing contentedness was reassured as he let his hair grow out again. At first, the soft, dark brown fuzz felt foreign, out of place next to his weathered mohawk. Above all, it _itched_. Connor impatiently scratched at the incessant discomfort, trying to will his hair to grow faster. Soon enough, it was to his shoulders again, and he braided the same feathers and beads into it that he had before. He marked it as a sign of healing, of acceptance and of inner victory. Connor only wished that the man before him in the mirror didn't remind him so much of souls lost to an endless war. A face of both Mother and Father-- still young eyes so burdened by death.

When old demons came to haunt him, he witnessed the power in the hands of power hungry and the weak and the bold, he felt it take hold of him like a vice, unrelenting and merciless. He felt the most wretched kind of heartache as he was given another chance for his past mistakes and still he failed. Not even he could provide his own solace in his futile efforts that could only end in madness.

A year passed, and soon there would be nothing for anyone to remember that Connor's people once inhabited the Mohawk Valley. Those who drove the Kanien'kehá:ka away from their lands were close to inhabiting it, industrializing land that was not their own. Sometimes, Connor wondered why he defended those who were outsiders to this sacred place; he then remembered those at the Homestead, the innocent people who did not wish to conquer, only live their lives freely, as was their right. Every person had the right to freedom.

Connor forced himself to visit his old village for the final time. Memories brought as he walked through the barrier walls, past where they used to grow crops and into what used to be the Clan Mother's Longhouse were painful, and it was all he could do to not let his tears fall. No one was there to see him, yet he felt the eyes of those he failed-- those whose spirits had passed watching him.

He had seen what the artifact had done to Commander Washington, what the promise of indefinite power had done to him; as he held the Apple over the edge of the Aquila and above the sea, the feeling was disconcertingly familiar.

Connor pulled the years-old chest from under a wooden bench, heart pounding as he opened it. The round artifact, the size of the Apple of Eden sat in the middle, as it always had. Connor felt a surge of anger, of remorse, and of fear as he took the Apple in his hands. The world around him fell away and was replaced by black laced with gold. The translucent being appeared before him.

_"Your mission has been completed, the key is placed for the right hands to use it."_

_"What_ are _you?" Connor was tired of these beings' riddles and prophecies._

_"You do not truly wish to know what we are, but rather, what our purpose is." It was a different voice than the one who had led him to leave his village and fight for the assassins, so many years ago._

_"I want to know why you put these things in the hands of mortal men who have no control over them-- they lead to nothing but chaos."_

_"We left them so that man could help where we failed."_

_"Just so you can see us fail your bidding?"_

_"Men have failed, but you have not." "You keep saying that, but what is the victory in my people being driven out of their home, my work being for nothing? It is as if I have done nothing at all, the British still conquer, Colonists and Patriots alike struggling for life, all while their leaders practice the very thing they hope to combat. Tell me, what is the point if such tumult is never to be solved?"_

_"Our work is to prevent destruction, on a far more profound scale than man's small revolutions."_

_"Thousands have_ died _, men, women, and children, young and old, innocent, why do they deserve any less than you, or anyone?"_

_"You do not understand. You are an important link in a chain of those destined to lead to the salvation of man, so that the planet will be saved and life can continue. However futile your work may seem, it is infinitely important. He who will save you thrives and will continue because of your work."_

_"Why me?"_

_"Fate."_

_"Am I only to achieve what I must, for your greater purpose, with no control over my own life?" Such a notion was far from the freedom Connor strove for, sacrificed for. It made him shudder._

_"Freedom is absolute, and inherent in each life who chooses."_

_"Mine is spent." Bitterness tinged Connor's tone. He had given so much, was it so wrong to expect something in return? The thought left him quickly. He had given so much, could no one benefit?_

_"Yours ensures that of others in the future."_

_"The future is irrelevant to me. All I have is now, and I do not like all that I have caused."_

_"You have given freedom, Ratohnhaké:ton." Connor recoiled at the sound of his name whispered by one he did not trust._

_"What am I to do now, if I have given freedom? I still see injustice in the streets of the colonies, oppression and greed in the places of supposed liberation. It is as if I have done nothing at all."_

_"Your defiance is immeasurable, and influence greater than can be noted." The translucent being regarded him with a scrutinizing eye for a moment. "You are still to be of great use."_

_"I...do not understand."_

_"You state that you have no further purpose, but all that you have done has led you here. The most important thing, perhaps." As the being's last words faded, a sigh with the wind, the surrounding gold the artifact emitted dimmed. Connor could feel the gathering power within it, coursing beneath the surface so that it almost vibrated in his hands. He looked down at the Apple, questioning. Without warning, the Apple's energy was released, a shockwave of light exploding from its core._

Connor dropped the Apple in his surprise, the wave of light throwing him back. For a moment-- blinded by light and overcome with such ancient power-- Connor felt he was floating, being carried by ancient forces that eluded his understanding. As quickly as it came, the suspension was ripped away and he was pulled back to the earth, the shock of impact tearing him from the world of the waking.

***

It was sound that came to him first. The sound of water dripping from above ground run-off was familiar, however the echo that bounced off of stone walls felt foreign as the slightest whisper of sound seemed miles away. The sound of labored breathing alarmed him. He had been alone, hadn't he? Perhaps Sofia had come and tried to find him after being gone so long, or the alarming flash of light. Had anything happened to her?

The next sense to greet him was smell. The dank odor of ancient stone in an underground place was familiar, but the fading scent of burnt flesh made his breath hitch in fear. Was he dead? Did Those Who Came Before feel it necessary to kill him after he had served his purpose?

Groggily, Ezio clambered to wakefulness, his eyes first focusing on high, vaulted ceilings matching the massiveness of the chamber. Ezio dragged heavy limbs so that he was sitting, looking around him to find his bearings.

While Altair's library was large, it was nothing compared to the immensity of the place he found himself. His eyes adjusted to the dark, he marveled at the alien architecture and craftwork of both metal and stone, obsidian interweaved through the structures that added to its malevolence. Ezio's gaze fell to the prone figure, only a few feet away from him; it bore achingly familiar white robes, the signature of a Master Assassin of the Syrian Brotherhood.

"Altair." Ezio's breath came as a whisper. _Perhaps this is the afterlife._ Ezio climbed to his feet, internally remarking at the hidden blade bracers still strapped to his arms, when he was certain he had taken them off. It was with the sound of his movement that Altair stirred, groaning as he struggled to consciousness. Ezio's presence startled him, and as the Italian Mentor approached, Altair's hand automatically went up, the hidden blade engaged and ready to spill blood if need be. Ezio jumped back, his own hidden blades extended.

"Peace, Brother. I do not wish to harm you." Altair looked over the stranger before him. His accent and words were unfamiliar to him, however more unfamiliar to him was how he felt inside his own skin. No longer did the aches and pains and hindrances of age plague him, and the weight of the robes on his shoulders had not the bearing of a Grandmaster, but of a Master Assassin, so young and agile and everything Altair hadn't had for ages.

"Who are you?" Altair warily gained his feet, stumbling slightly as the layers of aging was stripped away from him. He was young again. _What sorcery has done this? Is this death? Is this all I ever had to look forward to?_

"Ezio Auditore da Firenze. Mentor of the Italian Assassins. You are Altair Ibn La'ahad, are you not?"

"How do you know my name? I have not heard yours in the correspondences from our brothers in Italy. Your dialect is foreign to me." Altair's eyes narrowed. The name bothered him. It seemed so familiar, but he could not connect the face with the name.

"I have read your Codex and retrieved your keys to Masyaf's library. We are of the same order, but of different eras." Altair eyed the double hidden blades, the foreign robes he'd never seen before; the red belt trailing behind the Italian, along with the Assassin symbol faded into the fabric the only things that seemed recognizable. Ezio retracted his blades, his hands held above his head to assure he did not mean harm to the Grandmaster. Altair's eyes narrowed. They were not threatening, but they made Ezio feel exposed. After an uncertain silence, Altair's eyebrows lifted.

"Ezio."

"You know me?"

"I know where I have heard the name. Only briefly, as an afterthought of the voices within the Apple. As they gave me answers to further our Brotherhood, they spoke also of other things-- things that I could never fully capture or understand. They spoke of other assassins, though. Assassins through time who would lead and save the world from impending doom. I have heard your name spoken among them, as one of my descendants." Altair's stance relaxed, his hidden blade disengaged as he brought his fist across his chest.

"Safety and Peace, brother." Ezio returned the gesture.

"Nothing is True."

"Everything is permitted." Though Ezio's journey had ended, he had even more questions for the Mentor before him. He had come to idolize the Grandmaster, in a way. There were times when he felt lost, and Altair's profound strength had motivated him. He wondered how such a thing was possible. Ezio was just about to speak as Altair's eye caught something behind him. Ezio turned, and was unable to stop his mouth from opening in shock of what his own eyes met. As if a character from a storybook had come to life before him, Ezio stood looking at Desmond Miles, in the flesh. _Unbelievable._ What could cause such an immensely impossible thing to occur? The man the Ones Who Came Before guided Ezio to help was brought across centuries, across earth and sea so that they were in the same physical space as one another; or maybe Ezio and Altair were brought to him.

"Desmond." Ezio dropped to one knee, sensing the direness in the air. The faint waft of burnt flesh still tugged at his senses. Ezio put a hand on Desmond's chest, the latter's stillness bringing the former to fear. Desmond's right arm was charred and burned beyond recognition of a human limb.

"No." Ezio growled. Yet again, no matter what was done, they, _he_ had failed against their eternal struggle. Ezio put his hands on Desmond's shoulders, every moment building his remorse.

A familiar golden light flashed, forming into the figure of a woman, one Ezio had seen before, so many years ago. In that moment, the memory was painful.

Ezio took his hands off of Desmond's shoulders, looking to Minerva, rage lighting his eyes as he darted to his feet. Altair looked between the precursor, Ezio, and the man lying before them. He knelt where Ezio had left by the man's side, brow furrowing.

"You _lied_!" Only the rationale that what he saw was merely a hologram kept him from lashing out further. "Desmond was to be the one who achieved what no one else could. An end to this bloodshed! Nothing has changed, and how he's..." Ezio's voice caught in his throat. He was taken aback by his own reaction. Someone he'd only ever met with the endless fabrics of time forging yet between them.

 _"Hey!"_ Altair shouted to Ezio.

" _What?_ Do you want to excuse them from killing an innocent member of our Brotherhood?" Altair thoughtfully regarded Desmond, and then looked back to Ezio.

"I would never. That is what I am trying to tell you. He is not dead." Ezio's eyes widened, rushing to where Altair now knelt before their descendant. "You have Eagle Vision, do you not?" Altair looked to Ezio. Ezio nodded. Without another word, Ezio closed his eyes, concentrating on the energy that gathered around him. Opening his eyes, both the men before him glowed a cool blue. Desmond's aura was faint, even fainter still was the rise and fall of his chest. As his vision switched, his eyes flicked to Minerva.

"How?" The equivalent to a shoulder shrug made Ezio's eyes narrow.

"Desmond Miles is an enigma, even to us. He defies odds that even we do not understand. All I know is that he is alive now, and that he can put an end to Juno's plan."

"Since when have you ever wanted to put the fate of your precious world into the hands of a mortal? You manipulate and you plan, just so we can be your puppets." Ezio hissed.

"We never planned this... _I_ never planned this. This is _your_ world now, Assassin. Do with it as you may. And it is so as the chosen one will yet find no respite." Minerva was gone in a flicker of gold. Without the luminous hologram, the gray of the chamber was heavy upon them.

"What do we do?" The question echoed through the cavern, chilling them as the heavy air around them did. They were utterly lost-- in a time and place that held no sense of bearing, with no one to guide them. The two locked gazes and froze. Neither of them knew. Ezio regarded Altair, then Desmond, and then the cold, ancient walls that enveloped them. _There has to be some way out, if we managed to get in._ The thought was a start, and all they needed.

"We start walking." Ezio said. He placed his arms underneath Desmond's legs and shoulders, lifting him as he stood. Altair warily followed, never taking his eyes off of the mentor as they made their way through the Temple.

Neither of the two said anything, the only noise that echoed through the ancient walls their breathing and scuffing feet. Ezio glanced back at Altair, whose face was obscured in the darkness further by his hood. What brought them all here, to this sacred place, where were they, _when_ were they and why? Ezio was weary of questions that seemed to have no answers, the promise of resolve futile in the face of these 'Ones who came before.' Neither of them had a clue as to what they had to do, or where they could go, but the promise of fresh air and being out of such a confining space was drive enough.

Their collective Eagle Vision was what guided them through the ancient, foreboding Temple. As senses honed, they caught the wisps of a trail, and they could only put faith in fate that it wouldn't lead them astray.

***

Rebecca grimaced as the wind bit at her face and fear coiled in her stomach. Sleet had turned to snow during their trek, and the silent night of ice did nothing to calm her. The three nervously looked to one another as they trudged on, a resolve had built between them that helped them continue. Still, Rebecca swore he could feel souls of the history passed on the land they walked staring at the back of her head. It unnerved her as much as the echoes with no speaker had in the Grand Temple as they had worked before the End. Every noise that wasn't a footfall made the hair on the back of her neck stand.

The three crested a hill that at its base sat the Temple. The place wasn't surrounded by unmarked government vehicles or illuminated by dozens of spotlights, so Rebecca tried to herald it as a good sign. Her feeble attempt at optimism was turned to a ravaging fear as two-- _three_ figures emerged from the mass of the temple. Rebecca bit back a curse as she pulled Shaun by the shoulders behind a tree. William mirrored their movement, noticing the figures as Rebecca did. The dark of night was disorienting, the clouds that dropped snow also obscuring the sunrise as the witching hour turned to dawn.

Rebecca took in a quick breath of air as realization hit the three of them.

"What the _fuck?_ " Shaun whispered.

"That can't be who I think it is." Rebecca looked over Shaun's shoulder.

"Ezio Auditore and Altair Ibn La'ahad. Are we dreaming?" Shaun looked back to Rebecca, and then to William. The latter had already started moving, procuring a pistol and leveling the barrel at the assassins.

"Bill, _no_." Shaun jumped forward, darting across the opening between trees and taking William's hands in his own.

"It's not them, Shaun, it can't be." Ezio and Altair stopped at the sound of the three's movement.

"Who else _could_ it be? We've seen wilder things than this, and unless the Templars are into role-playing now, I would accept that they are _actually_ your ancestors."

"It could be a hologram."

"For _what purpose?_ The First Civilization are manipulating fuckers, but there is no reason for this."

"It could be a trap." "Again with the 'it could be.' William, whatever they are, _whoever_ they are, they have _Desmond_ and I don't think they'll take kindly to having a gun pointed at them." A lance of desperation flashed across William's eyes. He looked between the assassins and Shaun, letting out a frustrated huff. William uncocked his gun, flicking the safety on before putting it back in the holster.

"What do you suppose we do?" William asked, casting another nervous glance to the assassins. They still stood, rooted to their spots and wary of the noises of the forest. Rebecca had made it across the tree line to Shaun and William.

"We have to approach them." Rebecca said.

"Uh, no." Shaun's eyes widened. "They're _Master Assassins_ , and they don't know us. I doubt they'll be so warm and welcoming as high hopes would suggest."

"How else are we going to get Desmond?" Rebecca countered. "If we don't threaten them, they won't so readily attack us."

"And then we can all be friends and everything will be peachy?" Shaun's sarcasm never faltered.

"Rebecca's right, Shaun." William silenced them both. "We have no other choice." The agreement sat among them for a moment. Shaun nodded.

William was the first to reveal himself from behind the trees. Ezio and Altair tensed, locking on William's position in seconds. The shick of Altair's hidden blade was audible through the Winter's quiet.

 _Shit_. Shaun held his breath, following William. Rebecca followed close behind. All of them held their hands up to assure their peace. Ezio murmured something over his shoulder to Altair. The latter held his ground for a moment, before nodding, letting his arms drop to his sides.

"We are fellow assassins." William spoke. "We mean no harm. You have my son, Desmond."

"Desmond is your son?" Ezio questioned. He regarded the strangers with caution. Their auras shone blue, but he had been deceived before.

"Yes." _He died to save us all, and I just want to be able to say goodbye. Please._ "We came back to retrieve his body, give him the respects an assassin deserves." William clenched his jaw as he looked to his son.

Ezio cradled Desmond in his arms as if he were an infant-- his head resting against Ezio's chest, supported by his arm. When had Desmond's face become so drawn and pale? When had the boy gathered the strength to take the weight of the world? William cringed as he saw how severely Desmond's right arm was. _The price to save the world._  William looked back into Ezio's eyes. Puzzlement met him.

"Your son lives." William's hands balled into fists.

"You're lying to me you..." William advanced, Shaun and Rebecca's hands on his shoulders the only thing keeping him from the two assassins from the past. Ezio took a step back, gripping Desmond tighter, as if protecting him.

"I'm not lying. His life resonates within him. It is not strong, but he still draws breath." William felt as though his heart stopped. He shrugged out of Shaun and Rebecca's hold, walking closer to Ezio as he held Desmond. He did nothing to quell the shaking in his fingers as he reached to check the pulse under Desmond's chin. Sudden tears fell from his eyes as he put his free hand over his mouth. The faint heartbeat under his fingers seemed the most relieving feeling in the world and stars above. William pulled his hand away and fought for a semblance of composure. Had the world actually ended, and were they all in the spirit's place where all lived anew? William turned to Shaun and Rebecca, his eyes confirming what Ezio had said. Shaun's eyebrows raised and Rebecca's jaw dropped, tears glistening in both their eyes.

"We need to make it to the city." He turned so that he spoke to Ezio and Altair as well. "There's an old apartment building that one of our teams was stationed. It hasn't been compromised, as far as I know, so we'll head there." The others nodded. Altair and Ezio still regarded William with caution, but they had no other options.

"Shaun, is the van still functional?"

"I think so. As I remember, it had a terrible turnover, in the cold, but we kept it filled and in working order. As long as the Templars haven't found it, it's available." William nodded.

"Let's go, then." Shaun looked to the near lifeless man in Ezio's arm. The shock had yet to wear off, and adrenalin buzzed through his body as he led the four to where the van was parked.

He had just started to accept the feeling of a thin blanket of security in their plan and the two Master Assassins at their backs, when the sound of footsteps came up behind them and an arrow primed by a bow was aimed in their direction.

***

Connor woke to the familiar bite of Winter, shaking from the cold. The woods around him were recognizable, though they seemed aged. He dimly remembered what he had heard before he lost consciousness, and as he sat up, he realized he was no longer in his old village, but in the middle of an unknown place. At the sound of voices, Connor stiffly clambered to his feet, his hands finding purchase on a nearby tree trunk. As he steadied himself, he started to climb.

The top branches of the tree gave Connor an apt viewpoint. Six people stood in a clearing, speaking among themselves. One appeared to be incapacitated, yet still Connor was outnumbered. He considered that they may be allies, yet he also considered how so few who roamed the forest were not willing to attack on sight. He clenched his jaw, uncomfortable with his decision; it was still unjust and cruel to attack with no knowledge of the people's motives. Connor shifted his weight so that he descended back through the branches of the tree he had climbed. He took a deep breath, pulling his bow and an arrow from over his shoulders. He rest the arrow in the middle of the bow's curve, pulling it against the chord so that it was taught. _Give me strength._ He pleaded to any who would listen. Connor revealed himself from the cover of the trees.

***

_"Connor?"_ Rebecca questioned, disbelieving. How many other ancestors were going to be time-traveled here? What was it that drew so many to this ancient place? Connor stopped.

"How do you know my name?"

"We're assassins. I don't know how you got here, or how _they_ got here," _or how Desmond's alive,_ "but the year is 2012 and we need to get out of here." Shaun held his hands up for what felt like the thousandth time. As much as he was tired of feeling threatened by people, assassins who should be in different _centuries_ \-- the glint of Connor's arrowhead looked terrifyingly threatening. Connor's eyes narrowed as Shaun spoke. Shaun regretted speaking, for the first time in a while.

"We're all allies here." William spoke up, standing between Shaun and Connor. "I don't plan on dealing any harm. I just want to get my son and us all to somewhere safe; it's not here. I promise we'll figure out what's going on here, but we have to go. We're all of the same Brotherhood. In times like this, we're stronger together than we are apart." William held his arms out in front of him, his voice nearly pleading.

Connor recognized the sentiment in the man's voice-- it was the same as when Achilles spoke to him in concern. Cold brown eyes softened. Connor lowered his bow, sheathing his arrow and pulling the bow back over his shoulders. This group of people were allies; as much as his doubt bothered him, he trusted them. Two of them wore robes he had heard of in age-old tales of past Brotherhoods. If these people were assassins, maybe they could fight for the same thing, and find a sense of purpose.

"Thank you." William said, flint-gray eyes livid with emotion. He turned, beckoning for Shaun to continue on. Connor fell in step behind William, Rebecca, and Shaun-- walking next to Ezio and Altair.

The snow had stopped, allowing the clouds to clear enough to see the first rays of sunlight. The soft pink and orange of sunrise illuminated the horizon. As they continued on, the lights of the city had never seemed so distant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been humoring this idea for a while now, and it feels a great accomplishment to have this chapter up. After playing ac4, I realized how much I missed Desmond, and that so much could happen if he weren't dead. 
> 
> Inspired by my upset about Desmond's death (and all my ideas about how he could do so much), my persistent desire to have the ancestors meet each other, and a wonderful playlist on 8tracks (http://8tracks.com/delsinrowe/i-m-not-done), here I have the beginning of a time travel fix-it fic in which Desmond Miles lives and he further forms himself into the assassin that his ancestors were; leading the assassins to a victory over Juno and the Templars.


	2. Ever-Restless Refuge

The sun was nearly clear of the horizon by the time the van came into sight. William had ordered them into a loose, defensive formation out of precaution; the threat of Templar agents was still prominent. Connor took to the trees, following them from above and covering their blind spots. Shaun led them, with Altair at their backs.

At the first sign of fatigue from Ezio, William had taken Desmond, ordering the mentor to take their flank at the right, while Rebecca took the left. It was all William could do to keep his composure. Even Desmond's dead weight felt slight in his arms. _What does one have to give to save the world?_ How much could it take before it destroyed a person?

"Jesus, Shaun. Couldn't you have parked it a _little_ closer to the Temple, I won't have fingers before long." Rebecca rubbed her hands together, blowing air into them in a desperate attempt for warmth. William could empathize. The wind permeated his clothing as if it were nothing. There was no doubt the others felt similarly.

As Shaun stopped, Connor dropped from the nearest tree, expectantly looking to William, Shaun, and Rebecca. Something unnerved him about Ezio and Altair. He had heard about them and their pasts, their legacies. Their physical bearings spoke of hardened, wise, skilled, and very capable assassins. Though the two did not match him in brawn, they still imposed an essence of fear upon him.

"Is that not favorable, Rebecca? I was thinking we could re-instate the old ritual of removing a finger to assure a person's loyalty to our cause." Shaun retorted with a voice that bit like the wind. He opened one of the doors in the back of the van, beckoning William in first.

"Do we have blankets?" William asked, gingerly laying Desmond on the floor of the van, minding his severely burned arm. _Did you reach into the sun and steal its fire? Is that how you stopped its wrath?_ William grimaced.

"They're under the backseats." Shaun replied. He turned to walk around to the driver's side of the van, when the stillness of the three ancestors made him freeze.

"Bill."

"What, Shaun?" Impatience seeped through William's tone. He turned to face Shaun, eyes widening. Altair and Ezio had the eyes of bewildered-- and ultimately defensive animals-- they were torn between wonderment and aggressive caution. Connor stood, brow furrowed, but curiosity softened his aura.

"Okay. So; we don't have time for this." Shaun put his hands together, halfway to pleading with them to comply. "Assimilating to a new century is tough, I get it, but. Horseless carriage, run by electricity and fuel. Now I would _love_ to explain the discovery and inner workings of the internal-combustion engine, but we probably have a band of Templars after us and a severely injured assassin whom we need to get to shelter and help so I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say it would be _very_ much appreciated if you got in the van." Shaun took a deep breath. Connor's eyes moved from him to the van, narrowing in his doubt as he absentmindedly folded his hands together and rubbed at his fingers. After a few moments, Connor followed William into the back of the van.

"Ezio, Altair..." Shaun began to speak; Rebecca cut him off, putting a hand on his arm.

"Shaun. I don't think they can understand you." She eyed the two warily.

"What are you talking about? They could understand us perfectly well..." Shaun was interrupted yet again, this time by Altair-- however Shaun had no response for the statement obscured by the former's thickly accented Arabic. The moment Altair spoke, Ezio turned to face Altair, eyes wide with surprise. He countered what the Grandmaster had said with his own phrase in Italian.

"Well, this is lovely." Shaun's arms dropped to his sides, at a loss.

"The Temple must have been acting as some sort of translator, kind of like how the Animus translates memories in foreign and ancient languages. We must be out of its range of power, or something."

"That's a very compelling theory, Rebecca, but how does that help us with the two master assassins we now fail to communicate with?"

"Have you read Chaucer?"

"A bit, yes." Rebecca smirked, before turning to Altair, harsh Middle English rolling off of her tongue. Shaun could see the struggle of recognition and translation in Altair's mind, he and Rebecca both no doubt rusty in the language. Altair looked up after he had comprehended what Rebecca had said to him, and replied, each word deliberate. Their exchange continued, Rebecca shifting into what sounded like Arabic, before Altair finally nodded, beckoning Ezio to follow him. At the mentor's reluctance, Rebecca tried the Italian they'd all learned during their stay in Monteriggioni. It took far less convincing for Ezio than it had for Altair. Bits and pieces of what Ezio had grasped were woven together as Rebecca spoke to him in his native tongue. Shaun let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as the two Masters climbed into the back of the van. Shaun shut the doors behind them.

"Ever the linguist, aren't you, Rebecca?"

"I would have thought that the Master Historian would have better language skills, Shaun. Especially for what we do."

"Understanding a language and speaking it are two _very_ different things." Shaun could feel his cheeks growing red. Rebecca nodded skeptically. "Besides, I thought you were the machine-oriented one? When do you even have time to learn every language known to man?"

"When do you have time to drink so much tea?" Rebecca shrugged her shoulders, turning to walk around the passenger side of the van. After a few paces, she turned to face him again. "Languages are like machines, Hastings. They have structures and functions and all you have to do is learn the components, their places within the structures and you're set." Rebecca held her arms out in another shrug, an incredulous smirk directed toward him. Shaun rolled his eyes, walking to open the driver's door in a huff.

The ancestors had gathered around William and Desmond in the back of the van, uncomfortably shifting in their seats. William had gathered their blankets and covered Desmond in them, leaving one folded to act as a pillow.

"Drive, Shaun." William's voice was terse. Shaun looked to Rebecca for support. _God help us._ Shaun turned the key in the ignition, clenching his teeth as the engine rumbled to life. Shaun glanced in the rearview mirror, anxiously noting how the three ancestors looked around them as if they'd landed on another planet-- their wonder intermittent with fear as they pulled onto the nearest road.

William scanned each of the assassins before him, normally hardened exteriors softened in the face of such jarring elements. Connor's eyes were trained on the road and the trees, the mountains that were so much his home now an unrecognizable entity. He sat with his back straightened, hands folded in his lap.

Ezio alternatively locked his gaze on Desmond, and then Altair. He had pulled down his hood, his hand running through dark brown hair in nervousness.

Altair looked as though he was uncomfortable in his own skin. The stoic Master leaned forward with is elbows on his knees and hood still drawn up to shadow his face. Every few minutes, he would shift in his seat, fingers running over his weapon harnesses or bracers, feeling his shoulders or neck or chest. His movements were subtle, as to conceal his discomfort, yet they were tell-tale enough.

Rebecca looked back at the assassins occupying the van, and then to Shaun. The uncomfortable silence almost reminded her of their field missions, not so long ago-- when Desmond and William had just had a heated argument or their journey was simply far too long for any of them to keep up a conversation. The times weren't always pleasant, but they hadn't faced the Ones Who Came Before's wrath yet. Rebecca couldn't tell which she preferred-- living in anticipation of a profound acting power, or facing the consequences of it.

Wrath was a strong word for what the Temple had brought them. They had-- _Desmond_ had saved the planet, but at what cost? According to Minerva, Juno wanted to enslave the planet. Was life worth it if freedom was traded for it? Rebecca looked at Desmond again, her jaw clenching. They'd sacrificed too much for it to be worth nothing. It couldn't be a failure. Desmond had to live, they had to salvage _something_ from unleashing the Precursor's power, or everything they'd done in the past months would be in vain. Rebecca turned again, settling in her seat with her head against the frame of the window. Fear settled in anew for what was to come, welling in the pit of her stomach. She looked longingly to the sky, yearning for the freedom that the assassin's spirit sought.

Shaun wrung the steering wheel nervously, before speaking up.

"I don't think it would be great idea to go to the city. Not now, now that we have such a large group." _And an unconscious Desmond who will no doubt stir up attention._ Shaun left the thought unsaid as he glanced back to William. The man's eyes were hard, staring back at him with a sternness that Shaun couldn't determine whether to be afraid or contemplative of. He turned, returning his eyes to the road before them.

"It's the closest place for refuge. One of our teams is stationed in a lower city apartment building. It's discreet, and anonymous." Shaun sighed. "It was your idea to go into the city, anyway, Shuan."

"I know, William, I just..." Shaun gripped the steering wheel so that his knuckles were white. "New York City isn't exactly the most remote of places. There are cameras _everywhere_ and I'm pretty sure such a misshapen group of people will draw attention-- which is the last thing we need right now."

"What would you suppose we do?"

"I'd say head back to the Farm. Less cameras and people with wandering eyes to spot three assassins from different centuries and four other assassins who are on Abstergo's most wanted list."

"It's too far. For all we know, the Temple was the thing keeping Desmond alive and the sooner we get to stable shelter, the better."

"I think Shaun's right." Rebecca turned. William clenched his jaw for a moment, already frayed emotions trying to account for his temper as well. They were wasting _time._ The van continued toward the city, however lack of a solid plan when _no one knew what was going on_ put William on edge.

"Our team can find us a way into the city. They can bypass security cameras and lead us through places where Abstergo and the Templars aren't monitoring. It's better to have that than to go hundreds of miles on our own. I'll contact them to let them know we're coming. Rebecca, does the van still have a jamming signal to cover our tracks?" Rebecca inwardly sighed, unsure of their plan of action. William's logic was the most sound, but being in the center of so much activity-- undoubtedly most of it Abstergo's-- felt a desperate attempt to keep the Templars off of their trail. They'd do something reckless, in order to keep in the dark. It didn't _feel_ right to be anything less than calculating. All the same, Rebecca understood. Logic be damned, one of their own-- a friend, brother, _family_ \-- was in need of help; they had to do what was best for him, what would save _his_ life after he had saved all of theirs.

"Just a second." Rebecca turned, pulling what looked to be a homemade tablet out of the glove compartment.

"Is there _anything_ you don't have hidden somewhere?" Shaun scoffed.

"My mp3 player."

"I'm sure you could make one out of the radio if you felt so inclined."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Hastings."

"Rebecca." William's stern voice broke their jest.

"I got it. Any cell phone waves that come from any of our devices should be encrypted, except to those we want to communicate with."

"Thank you." William dug around in his coat pocket for his phone. A flip phone-- others called him old fashioned but it was only used _six_ years ago. He started texting his contact, the _click_ of buttons the only thing audible aside from the roar of tires on asphalt.

"Do we have correspondence?" Rebecca asked, after the back of the van had been silent for a seemingly unbearable amount of time.

"There's still a team stationed where I thought. They're there, and ready to take us in. They're sending you maps of all the back alleys and streets in New York, and all the routes that are both free and riddled with Templar surveillance." Rebecca checked her tablet, the information popping up on her screen.

"Got it. I'll calculate the best route for us to take, and then hook it up to our GPS, Shaun." Shaun nodded, anxiously looking in the van's rearview mirrors. Everything could go wrong. Still, their only option was forward, and now that they had promise of shelter, they couldn't turn back.

***

Connor was speechless as they came upon the place he had thought he had known so well. The others spoke of being separated by centuries, but how much could truly change? The eastern frontier had been his home, the place that had made and destroyed him, the place that he had fought to protect. He felt himself scrambling for purchase in a place strange enough to be that where he had never been. Horses and carriages had been replaced with vehicles much like the one they had ridden out of the mountains in. All shapes and sizes, colors and bearings.

Fires people would light to illuminate their way in the night were now doubly bright-- and seemingly endless, even when the sun had lifted further into the sky. The _buildings_ were impossibly tall-- that and the architecture was simple and nothing any of them; Connor, Altair, or Ezio had ever seen before. The prospect was both terrifying and tantalizing.

The people they would pass had cold, hard eyes, as if heralding the world around them that despite the abundance of light, held very little warmth. Some were sad, some were angry, some dared to be happy, but it seemed to Connor that their motives and emotions were no different than what he had faced when the United States-- as William had said the country was called now-- were isolated to the East and they were fighting for their freedom. Being centuries away, Connor wondered-- what did they fight for now, with so many advancements and opportunities? Was it the same thing that the assassins had fought for all these years? Centuries stood between him and Ezio and Altair, and they fought for the same thing-- across time and treacherous and prosperous lands, was it yet the same thing for the land the colonies, his _people_ lived on? It seemed that just as time could make people unrecognizable, so too could it make a nation.

Shaun parked the van in an alley on the outskirts of the city, the noises of metropolitan life still distant in their ears.

"We should head out in small groups, fan out into different parts of the city, so as not to be so conspicuous." William started. Shaun and Rebecca climbed to the back of the van, joining the group to strategize their options.

"Is splitting up really so great an idea?" Rebecca offered. "It may draw a little less attention to us, but we'd be vastly outnumbered and dangerously unarmed if we came to any complications."

"Speaking of drawing attention, what'll we do about this lot?" Shaun motioned to Connor, Altair, and Ezio. "They're armed to the teeth and assassin's robes will no doubt stand out in a crowd, no matter if they're alone or in a group."

"How do you go about being in the brotherhood if you have no robes?" Connor questioned.

"Times change, mate."

"So it seems." Connor fell back into silence as William spoke up.

"Splitting up will give the enemy more of a target-- or _targets_ to track. It's more luck on our side."

"I don't think now is the time to bet on luck, William." Shaun said. _This is_ Desmond, _we're talking about._

"It's the only thing we've got, at the moment." William replied.

"I've mapped out the best routes for us to take, but it would be too risky to utilize all of them." Rebecca pulled up her tablet. "I think our best bet would be to take the sewers. There's one tract that lead us to within a block or two of our allies' hideout."

"There could be hostiles in the sewers, could there not?" Connor added.

"Not here, I don't think." Shaun answered.

"If Abstergo knew we were taking refuge within the city, then they'd probably have agents searching every inch of it, sewers included." William said. "But I don't think we've been detected yet. That gives us an advantage." _For once._

"Then we should exploit it, and keep as a group for as long as we can." Rebecca argued. "You said it yourself, Bill. We're stronger as a group than we are alone." William looked to the others, each looking to him for guidance. "We found our way to each other, may as well be that we stick with it."

"Fine. Where's the nearest sewer entrance from here?" William assented.

"About a block. All back alleys, though. There shouldn't be too much trouble."

"You say that now." Shaun murmured under his breath. William grit his teeth.

"Is the van secure?" William looked to Shaun.

"We took out most of our equipment and left it in the Temple, so there isn't much the Templars could use it for against us. There's still some stuff I think we should take with us, though."

"Grab it, and let's go." William nodded. Rebecca and Shaun stood, Connor and the others following suit. Rebecca spoke to Altair and Ezio, both of them narrowing their eyes in concentration. Shaun wasn't entirely sure that they had made any progress when Rebecca opened the back of the van, and they stepped out. William followed, Desmond in his arms and still covered with blankets. Rebecca returned to help Shaun gather the rest of their equipment. It wasn't much, but it would help them stay on their feet-- a few computers and disassembled devices that could serve them well as they got them up and running again. Everything they thought they would need-- or that would lead any prying eyes back to them went into what Shaun and Rebecca gathered. Shaun locked the van-- with a desperate hope that it would remain untouched until they were well away from it.

The most shocking thing, Altair supposed, was the smell of this foreign place. There was an odor that settled heavily in the air, mixed with a thousand others, however it was different than the sour smell of Acre or the sickly sweet smell of dirt and fire and fresh food at the bazaar in Damascus, or even the scent of sweat covered with incense that made Malik's bureau in Jerusalem so comforting . Some smells had been rancid, others homely, yet none of them carried through the air where he found himself now. This new place carried its own scents, and perhaps that was the most jarring-- nothing he was expecting was fulfilled as they continued. Even the sewers -- underground passages that doubled as a system for getting rid of waste-- had their own rotten smell, but still it was not as home. He looked to Shaun in puzzlement as the man wrinkled his nose. He spoke on impulse, forgetting that Shaun could not speak his language.

 _"Does this smell repulse you?"_ Altair had faced far worse. Rebecca chuckled, coming up on his right as the group climbed underground.

 _"This is_ one _of the worst smells in the 21st century, just to let you know."_

 _"It is new to me. As are most of these things we have seen, smelled, heard."_ Altair yearned to wrap his arms around himself. The standing water underground seeped into his boots and while the aesthetic qualities of it did not bother him, it was _cold._ The deep ache he would normally feel in his bones as the temperature dropped was gone, and he couldn't determine what concerned him more. How could he be so young again?

 _"You're doing fine."_ Altair curtly nodded.

 _"Thank you. Though I fear this lack of communication will hinder us all."_ Rebecca smiled.

 _"Don't worry. We'll teach you and Ezio how to speak our language. Maybe you can teach us a thing or two, as well."_ Altair agreed.

"Yeah, not a big fan of the echo." Shaun called from the back of the group. "It makes it harder to hear what's going on around us. We need to stay alert."

"Whatever you say, Hastings." Rebecca sighed.

"Shaun's right. With government surveillance what it is today, I wouldn't rule out hidden cameras, even in the sewers. It's better we don't speak unless it's necessary."

"Then why are you still speaking?" Connor whispered. His eyebrows raised in subtle spite. William frowned.

"Which way, Rebecca?" William changed the subject as they came to a fork in their passage. The group stopped for a moment, Rebecca tinkering with her tablet.

"To the left." William shifted Desmond in his arms. Tired muscles protested, a resistant ache in his lower back dully throbbed; yet he persevered. If Desmond could carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, it was the least William could do to carry _him_. Desmond still held life within him, but William's heart nearly stopped each time he thought it left-- fading away like sunlight from the sky at dusk.

Ezio had crawled and climbed through many underground passages in his journeys, however, there was never one like the sewer he followed the other assassins through. He half expected to find an assassin crest, a secret passage that would lead them to another, perhaps safer place. Ezio was let down as each pipe they crawled through led to another one that looked exactly the same, the underground network dizzyingly intricate and repetitive; the sounds of _cars_ \-- as the others had called them, self powered and without horses or mules-- and people and mechanical life beyond his understanding rang as a distant echo.

He wondered what Leonardo would think of these societal advancements-- the man was always so fervent and enthusiastic about growth and development, sometimes it seems Ezio would grow tired so the artist could continue his endless ideas. _You would be thrilled, amico mio. Such sights, sounds, smells._ Ezio found himself missing home, more profoundly than he had ever-- at least in Constantinople he had made friends, allies; these assassins spoke a language he hardly knew and the time was like nothing he had ever seen. He took solace in the fact that they were all of the same Brotherhood, and in that he lay his trust.

"You are tired." Connor matched pace with William.

"Aren't we all." William tried to cover a grimace-- made of both fear and fatigue-- with an offered smile.

"I could take him, if you need to rest. I know he is your son, but one must take care of their selves before they can be fit to care for another." Connor knew all too well. He looked to the man before him. A father-- one who cared, who may have had some rough spots with his son and his family, but he had a caring heart, one that carried compassion past any differences. Connor's heart clenched. He wondered what it was like to have such a father. _Achilles was that for me._ Yet thinking of Haytham, it didn't feel the same.

"I'm fine, Connor. But thank you." William felt a pang of remorse for the sadness he saw in Connor's eyes. What the sadness was for, he couldn't say, but Connor's deep brown eyes reminded him so much of Desmond that William found himself wishing he could take away Connor's troubles as well.

***

It seemed ages in a labyrinth before Rebecca stopped in front of a ladder that led to street level.

"We should be just a few blocks away from our allies' hideout. There is one patch of our route that is blanketed by a security camera feed, but if we're quick enough, I can use this to jam the signal for a few seconds." Rebecca indicated her tablet.

"Are the rooftops not an option?" Connor suggested.

"Not in this city. Too tall of buildings with too little handholds. Plus, not all of us can climb." Rebecca cast a nervous glance to William, still holding Desmond. He nodded reassuringly. It was risky taking so big of a chance while this close to the assassin's hideout; it made Rebecca's skin crawl. She turned, climbing up the ladder and tentatively opening the pothole cover, hyperaware of the above ground environment. She nodded down to the group below, opening the manhole cover completely and climbing out. They had made it inside the restless city, they only now had to reach its center and avoid detection.

"Alright. The surveillance-covered region is right outside this alley, and extends for the entire block. I can jam the camera signal for about a minute. That's our window for blending with the crowd and making it to the dead-zone. That's the block-wide radius our allies have set up for their hideout."

"Don't they have control over these things?" Shaun whispered, glancing to the street before the alley.

"Their systems have been down since the solar flares started. Cell towers just got back online this morning; we were lucky to have been able to contact them in the first place." William responded.

"Then thank god for homemade gadgets." Shaun remarked, nodding toward the device in Rebecca's hands.

"Are we ready?" Rebecca primed the jamming signal.

"What about these guys? Weapons in a public place such as _New York_ carried by people with darker skin will not go over well with _anyone,_ Templar or not." Shaun said. Rebecca clenched her teeth.

"You're right. Will they fit in the bundles with our equipment?" Shaun cast a long glance at their bags they were carrying, finally nodding. He looked to Connor first.

"We need to conceal your weapons, mate." Connor looked skeptical, but he consented as Shaun asked for all of his weaponry. Rebecca turned to Altair and Ezio and asked the same. Altair protectively wrapped a hand around his hidden blade, before sighing and unstrapping it, handing it to Rebecca warily.

"Connor's bow is too large." Shaun resolved after a few minutes of shifting things around so all of their weapons would fit. _How the_ hell _did they walk around like this and not get questioned?_ Were the assassins _actually_ discreet, or were the authorities just exceptionally dull?

Connor read their thoughts before they could even speak.

"We are not leaving it behind." It was his mother's, gifted to him once he was old enough to hunt. It carried far too much value for him to part with it.

"We can carry it. We'll split up. One group of us can go down one side of the block; the one with more alleys, and the other can take the street. Shaun, Connor, and William; you three can take the alleys down the block. Ezio, Altair, you can come with me. Let's hope the art of blending with a crowd hasn't changed." There was a silent agreement within the group. "You, fan to the left. We'll take right. Stop in the alley right before 24th street. Ready?" Rebecca looked to the others. Petulant and focused eyes met her in anticipation.

"Let's go." Rebecca activated the jamming signal, standing to face the street. To their advantage, a large group of people came walking down the sidewalk. She picked up the bundle of their equipment and joined the group, matching their natural rhythm as if she and the two assassins at her back were normal pedestrians.

As they reached an intersection, she anxiously checked the timer she'd set on her watch. Already half of their time was up. The intersection allowed them to cross. It would be suspicious if they started running, but the pressure felt crushing as their remaining thirty seconds dwindled. She walked faster, beckoning Ezio and Altair to follow, ignoring the strange looks they attracted as they gently and swiftly made their way through the crowd. They crossed the street; Rebecca looked at her watch again. A digital _:20_ taunted them. She clenched her jaw, pulling Ezio's sleeve.

 _"Run. Follow me."_ Ezio nodded, gesturing for Altair to follow as well. They ran. Their block was so close, it was within arm's reach that they would be embraced by the safety of the dark. Her watch timer _beeped_ just before they turned the corner into the alley. Rebecca despaired-- she could only hope that the second that they were exposed wasn't enough for them to be tracked. She met Shaun and William, they were just as breathless as her and Ezio and Altair.

"Where's Connor?" Rebecca's stomach flipped.

"We were attacked." Shaun put his hands on his knees. Had they been followed the entire time?

"By Templars?"

"Some city street thug. Connor fended him off so we could get away."

"The jamming signal isn't being transmitted, if he's _seen_ , if he gets _hurt_..." Rebecca ran a hand through her hair. Within seconds, Connor ran around the corner, seemingly unscathed but for the fear that lit his eyes.

"It's the lesser of two evils. A man with colonial robes and clothing will take them much longer to identify than four wanted individuals from this era." A collective, tight sigh emitted within the group. Connor joined them.

"Our attacker has been taken care of."

"Please don't tell me you left him dead in the middle of the alley." Shaun straightened.

"I knocked him unconscious and left him behind the large metal container." Shaun struggled to stifle a laugh, despite their situation.

"It's called a dumpster, Americans use it to put large amounts of trash in."

"They have dumpsters in Britain, too, Shaun." Rebecca called him out.

"If we're all in one piece, then let's _go_." William snapped. He led them across the alley, down steps that led to a door. He knocked with his foot. He could feel eyes staring at him through the peephole. Eventually, the door opened with a metallic _groan_.

"Jesus _Christ_ , William. What the _hell_ is going on?" A slight woman with dark hair and even darker eyes met them at the door. They looked over William, then Desmond, widening as she saw the others behind him.

"Amelia. I'll explain everything once we get settled. Did you call our medical contact?"

"He arrived about half an hour ago." Amelia moved out of the doorway to let the group in. She hugged Rebecca and Shaun in greeting, regarding Ezio, Altair, and Connor with an air of caution. All the same, the three came in the doorway; Amelia closed it behind them. She ran to catch up with William, already making his way to the elevator to the upper levels of the apartment building.

"You told me it was an emergency."

"It's my son. Of course it is." William replied as he stepped into the elevator. The others crammed in with them; the ancestors clearly uncomfortable to be so close to one another.

"When you say 'emergency,' I assume that it's a standard man down in the field-- not three _master assassins from three different centuries._ "

"Amelia, I'd love to answer all of your questions, but right now I have more pressing matters to deal with." Amelia nodded, her eyes falling. _He's finally found him._ Amelia sadly looked to Desmond. She hadn't seen William since he had gone on word that Abstergo had his son. Endless years of searching seemed to finally pay off. William followed her gaze. The florescent lighting made Desmond look even more sickly and pale.

 _Stay with us Desmond, please._ William had to swallow his impatient fidgeting.

The elevator doors opened to a hallway; there stood two fellow assassins-- both with stiff bearings and worried eyes. Amelia spoke, gesturing to one of them.

"This is our doctor, Ruben. He's prepared a cot." William nodded, following the doctor as he led them down the hallway and through one of the doors; one of the loft apartments.

"Through this way." Ruben walked through the loft, leading him through an adjoining corridor.

"Wait here." William turned to the others. Shaun and Rebecca nodded, setting the bags they were carrying down to wait with the others. William and Ruben eventually made it to a room, void of color save for the metallic sheen of black of monitoring machines next to the medical cot.

"What has happened to him?" Ruben started up the machines, chancing a worried glance at Desmond as William set him on the cot.

"The Grand Temple-- I don't know exactly what it did to him, but his right arm's severely burned and he hasn't regained consciousness for the past eight hours, at least." William gently pulled the blankets he had been using to cover Desmond away. Ruben had a flashlight, and began pulling Desmond's eyelids up to check pupil response. He paused as he saw Desmond's arm.

"Fourth degree burns." William looked away, nodding. "We'll need to amputate it, to curb any chance of infection."

"Not right now."

"William, with such damaged tissue, there is an exponentially high risk..."

 _"Not right now."_ William emphasized. "Not while we still don't know what his state is; not before he wakes up. Further trauma to the body in such a vulnerable state isn't going to get us anywhere." Ruben locked eyes with William.

"Fine. I'll bandage it, put him on oxygen and an IV drip of fluids, keeping him monitored with an EKG. He doesn't appear to be comatose if he's been breathing on his own for this long, but only time will tell. We'll need to cut this jacket off of him, though." Ruben closer observed the burnt tissue.

"Not his hoodie." William surprised himself at his reaction. Such a material, futile thing-- yet it was Desmond's, and it felt like yet another thing that his son was losing, another part of himself.

"I can't properly bandage this damage or attach anything with the clothing he has on, and the bones in his hand and arm are _fused together,_ William. It's brittle and if we disturb it more than need be then it'll break."

"Okay." William's voice came as a whisper. He fought tears. Ruben worked quickly, hands gentle yet deft. William wanted to look away; he felt empty and hollow as he watched what he'd seen happen to countless assassins happen to his own _son_. Broken and defeated and so unbearably _small-- I've failed you, Desmond._ As a father and a mentor; sometimes William lost the distinction between the two.

When Ruben finished, William thanked him, a handshake to send him away.

"I'll be back in a few days. We need to amputate that arm, William. I'm sorry, but it needs to be done. Call if anything comes up." Ruben's eyes were deep with compassion-- William's hardened under their gaze.

"I understand. Thank you again for your help. Things are tight with our systems down."

"It was Desmond who stopped the solar flares, wasn't it?" William averted his gaze from Ruben's again.

"Yes."

"You've got a hell of a son, William. He'll pull through if he's got that much of a fight in him." William nodded. Ruben put a hand on William's shoulder before leaving. As the door shut behind him, William put his head in his hands. William had always known the inevitable since he'd seen Desmond--alive-- come out of the Temple in Ezio's arms. What more had he to sacrifice? William sniffed, pulling the mask of composure over himself again, walking out of the room.

The others were sitting in the loft, uncomfortably silent. Eager yet worried eyes met William.

"As far as we know, he's stable, and not comatose, so we suspect he'll wake soon. The burns were so extensive on his right arm..." William paused. "We'll have to amputate it. There's no chance it will heal."

"He's _alive,_ though. That's something good, right?" Rebecca stood. William's mouth formed a tight line. He nodded.

"You still need to tell me what the _hell_ is going on." Amelia rose from a chair across the room.

"It's better that fewer people know. I trust you and the others, Amelia, but this kind of thing-- no one can know about. We don't even know all of the details ourselves, only that these three showed up near the Grand Temple. I need you and the others to go back to the Farm to tell the others that Desmond is alive; he managed to save the world-- but that the Precursors, Those Who Came Before, particularly one named Juno is at large. That is our main threat."

"And of the others?"

"The fact that Altair, Ezio, and Connor are here cannot make itself known, at least not yet. We need to keep it as under-wraps as possible."

"But the _other_ others?"

"What are you talking about?" William's brow furrowed. Amelia nodded to a Brother who stood at the door. He turned, opening the door and calling down the hallway. William crossed his arms.

"Amelia?"

"This is why the entire team in New York is bewildered into silence. These two showed up on our doorstep, particularly frightened and not a little violent. Luckily one of us knew Turkish, and another nearly ancient Arabic."

"I don't understand." William walked closer to the door. After a few moments, the door opened; Shaun, Rebecca, and William were stunned to silence. Altair and Ezio jumped to their feet, jaws dropped in shock.

"Yusuf?" Ezio's voice was small, frightened as if he were seeing a ghost. Yusuf grinned in relief.

"Ezio." Ezio stood rooted to his spot, before Yusuf walked forward and embraced him in a hug. It took a moment for Ezio to return the sentiment, but when he did it was full and true. No matter how unlikely it seemed, Yusuf was the first familiar thing Ezio had seen since he joined this group of assassins. His relief in comfort pushed aside the fact that only such a thing had happened in his dreams-- his fellow Master Assassin was gravely missed, and such warm, inviting streets seeming cold without his friend.

"What is happening, my friend?" Yusuf released the embrace.

"I do not know. But we are among allies." Ezio put his hands on Yusuf's shoulders, hesitant to release his hold, lest Yusuf dissipate before his very eyes.

"Is this death? Is this strange, foreign land where assassins go when they die?"

"I have asked myself that same question, and I do not think so." Ezio fought to hold back sudden tears. _How I have missed you, Yusuf._ Altair walked past Yusuf and Ezio in a shock of his own.

"Altair?" Malik's hard eyes softened for a moment.

"Malik." Altair moved forward tentatively. Once he was within an arm's length of his friend, Altair moved forward in an embrace, his own honor was no matter.

"Are we dreaming?" Shaun spoke up, hands thrown over his head. "The ancestors made an iota of sense, but these two? I think we've just entered some twisted alternate universe; this is what this is." Shaun flung himself onto the nearest couch in exasperation. William blinked. He blinked again.

"So I'm not imagining this?" Amelia shook her head. William pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "Don't tell the others about this. Take your team with you to the Farm. I can hold down the fort here. Especially now with all of these guys." Amelia nodded.

"Yes, mentor."

"Also, Amelia?"

"Yeah, William?" "Tell my wife that our son is alive. Tell her all that I've told you. Everything-- but let her know that it is of the direst importance that it stays between us."

"Will do. Good luck to you all." Amelia looked to the others, before heading for the door. "We'll head out by nightfall."

"Be safe."

"When is being an assassin ever safe?" Amelia smirked, closing the door behind her. William sighed, looking to the new members of their group. Yusuf Tazim and Malik al-sayf; Shaun had been right, there was _no_ reason he could think of that would explain them being there. Patience, though scarce, he mused, was required in abundance.

"Rebecca, can you start setting up the equipment we salvaged from the van?" William turned to her.

"Yep. I'll get it up and running ASAP."

"Shaun, can you get...the others situated, maybe get them to different rooms and get them settled in? Have Rebecca help you. I'm going... I mean I think it would be best if..." Such new complications had been thrown at them, yet William's anxiety lay elsewhere.

"Go, William. Rebecca and I can handle this for now. Let us know if anything changes, alright?" Shaun rose, putting a hand on William's shoulder, before approaching the group of ancestors before him. William let out a sigh of relief. They were safe-- for now. He turned, making his way back down the corridor connecting to the loft and into Desmond's room. He pulled up a chair, sitting down and resting his arm against the side of the bed. The EKG beeped in a steady, calm rhythm. Patience, it seemed was their biggest obstacle now, and all they could do was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter is made! Thank you so much to everybody who is reading, I really appreciate the support. Don't hesitate to comment and review!


	3. Hope in the Static

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally gotten through another chapter! A month is far too long a time for an update, and I apologize. Taking 18 credit hours in college (double majoring in music and art woo!) and working (my first job!!) 15 hours a week really takes a lot of time out of my schedule, so I write when I can, and sometimes it's not that often. I'm also really thinking through how I want to pace through all the ideas I have for this fic, and sometimes writer's block happens with that.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Waking felt as though he was being lulled from the deepest ocean-- darkness, silence, and a muted awareness of what surrounded him; all of it was fading as light broke the surface of his dreaming, before he was intermittently pulled back down again.

A lance of panic filled his groggy psyche. More of bewilderment, but it was acute and alert-- a red flag in a sea of gray. _I shouldn't be waking at all... that and dreams are for the living._ He had felt death, it's warm yet forceful embrace, the feeling of floating and ascending to a more profound place than where he was... _And yet he lived._ As the lull of waking drew him briefly back into an unconscious state, the stark realization hit him.

At first, when Desmond had woken to painfully real delusions and a realization that he was _alive_... he hadn't known what to think. More than anything, he was still just as weary as before; weary of the battles still needing to be fought and the fact that they still hadn't _ended._ He had thought that he had failed, _again_.... that the world had burned while he sat, sheltered in the Grand Temple. After his fellow assassins-- through _milennia_ and a common bloodline came into his view, he had thought himself in another coma, victim to the bleeding effect. Maybe this time it would finally finish him.

Even more disconcerting was the fact that he wasn't in agonizing pain, the pain that had erupted as the Eye released the energy of the whole of time through his body. When he tried to shift, muscles didn't respond. A moment of panic, until he realized that they were muscles wearied to the point of atrophy. Painful memories of his coma, of what brought it, what it brought for him-- resurfaced with a debilitating clench in his chest. Desmond looked down, surveying what damage had been done to him. The bandages covering his right arm rang alarm bells. He should have been in excruciating pain-- he felt it enough before. The horror dawned on him as he attempted to clench a fist. Unresponsive, curled fingers sat motionless in his lap.

 _No._ Desmond despaired in the loss. What had the Temple _done_ to him? Juno had _lied._ The exertion of tears that formed in his eyes nearly enough to overcome him. What more had he to give for this cause, for this life? Perhaps it was menial in the face of the world and ancient prophecies and the fact that his life had been spared _yet again--_ he knew that he wouldn't come out of this whole, but the shock was still there, battering and ravaging as if he were nothing. He heard movement beside him.

"Desmond?" _Dad._ Even through his fractured sanity, there was one voice, one face that he never could seem to forget. Desmond blinked, willing the blurriness out of his vision. He was _exhausted._

"Take it easy, you're okay." Desmond's eyelids fluttered. How was he alive? How long had he been sleeping, and why was he still so tired? The lights too bright, and sounds too hard to process, Desmond let his eyes close, maybe to break the facade he faced.

When death was no longer a friend, the jaded road to waking was harder. Memories faded into one another; crying out for Lucy turned into crying out for Christina or Maria or Ziio; yelling, _screaming_ at Juno turned into shouting at his father, arguing with Achilles, an ugly fistfight with Malik, into destroying a mirror on the wall in the Assassin Den in Rome because Ezio, _he_ couldn't stand what he saw in it.

 _Failure._ The same story repeated itself over and over again. There was nothing but failure and death. Desmond was no different than those before him. He failed, he fell; though he was given more chances than he was worth.

 _Worthless._ The word hurt even more when he was hallucinating, hundreds of years' worth of ghosts dredging up the most painful emotions-- as his tongue spoke a language that didn't quite feel like his, the words not his own when he was speaking, the word itself lost its meaning when he _knew_ that he should know it, that it should trouble him, that he should fight it. Some days it just felt like he had nothing left to fight with.

There was one point-- when the visions hadn't stopped, and Desmond couldn't just be _Desmond_ anymore-- that he welcomed the delusions. There was no point in trying to stop something that he already had coming since the first time he was thrown inside the Animus. As each moment had felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, shaking and crying for losses that weren't even _his_ , it had felt more natural to be Ezio, or Altair, or even Connor, eventually. They were brave, and unrelenting, and everything that he wasn't. Desmond felt more comfortable in their shoes than his own. He was even ashamed in that; he had welcomed madness over fighting for sanity. Fighting was futile; it did nothing but kill, and torture, and take with no promise of victory.

Desmond wondered how his ancestors could handle it-- all of the despair and wallowing, dwelling in the dark with no hope of reveling in light. He was weak, and no matter what Abstergo, or the Ones Who Came Before had planned for him, he couldn't lead the world to salvation. He couldn't.

If he was alive-- if his _father_ and the others were alive then that meant that Juno roamed free, or that the device had failed and the whole world had burned; either was far too difficult to bear.

It was almost that he didn't want to wake up; as ever, it seemed that the eternal sleep was only for those who were worthy.

"Desmond?" His father's voice was soft beside him. "Son, can you hear me?" Desmond hated the desolation in his dad's voice. William would be a hard man when he chose to be, however defeat never made it into his tone, no matter what he chose to say or when. Desmond's eyelids fluttered open, blurry vision trying to focus. The light was dimmer than the last time he woke, softening the clarity of his surroundings. He was grateful. He squinted as his father's face came into focus-- William's eyes were sad, circles underneath them and his face drawn, as if he hadn't slept for days. Desmond berated himself; he felt about the same, only he felt as though he'd been sleeping for years. As their eyes locked, William let out a smiling sigh, half of relief, and half of tears that were tempting him.

"Desmond." A thousand emotions and sentiments tempted Desmond's tongue, but he couldn't get the words out. They were reflected in William's eyes-- those which were usually so shielded, a cold, icy grey now rife with something different. Desmond's eyebrows raised in a tired concern. He pulled his gaze away, eyes moving about the room, purposely avoiding the impulse to assess the damage that had been done to him. He was alive-- that much would have to be enough.

The room was small, yet he felt even smaller in it. Nothing furnished it but the bed he lay on and the machines whirring by his side; his father sat in a chair by his bedside. _Where are we?_

As if William had heard Desmond's thoughts, he spoke in answer.

"We're in an apartment building in New York, one the Assassins own. After you touched the Eye..." _and saved the world, intent on sacrificing yourself for it,_ "Shaun, Rebecca, and I went back to the Temple-- we couldn't just leave you there." William's voice dropped, dipping his head to tear his eyes away from Desmond.

"We..." Should he tell Desmond about his ancestors? He had undoubtedly seen them before as they watched over him, intent on keeping the savior of the world safe as he lay, unconscious and vulnerable. They had all heard of him through the whispers of the Apple, but seeing and knowing him evoked a new kind of devotion-- even if they didn't know the rest of the assassins with them, on some level they knew _him._ Maybe Desmond was still too caught in the throes of waking to know they were there. When they were concrete and real, there was ever more of a chance the Bleeding Effect torturing and tearing him apart.

"We realized that you were still alive, and we brought you back here. You did it, son. You saved the world." Juno was still at large, and all of them were essentially on the run from one of the biggest covert operations on the planet-- but William hadn't the heart to tell Desmond that for all he sacrificed, they still hadn't won. It felt as if they never would.

Desmond couldn't meet his father's eyes. So the world was saved, then. That meant that Juno was somewhere out there. Desmond's gaze inadvertently shifted to his arm. Bandaged, void of any feeling or response, no matter how furiously he tried to flex his fingers or bend his wrist-- the only movement he got was a slight twitch from the elbow-- anything below was dead weight. _What did you do to me, Juno?_ Was this really all he was, a pawn so readily sacrificed? Before he realized it, tears had formed in his eyes; he wept. He knew the words before his father even said them. Flashes of lives long past dwelled in the back of his mind. _An eagle with its wings clipped._ Malik had been an affable fighter even without one arm, but he was _Desmond,_ the one who was only an assassin because of his bloodline, the one who wanted no part in it and only learned how to kill and to fight because he was thrown into a machine.

"We'll have to amputate it. There's nothing else we can do, there's too much damage..." William scrambled to explain, words tumbling over themselves in a desperate attempt to make it seem _right._ Even with the deepest of remorse in his voice, nothing could make it justifiable. Desmond said nothing, only letting more silent tears fall. William grit his teeth.

"I'm sorry, Desmond." Desmond looked away, wanting to cover his grief, to show some sort of strength, but it was too exhausting. He had no choice than to let his father see him in anguish, in weakness.

"I'm so sorry." William's voice dropped to a whisper. He reached out a hand, clasping Desmond's left in it. A silence passed between them, the air heavy with their collective despair. It took what seemed ages for William to gather the strength to rise from where he sat. He took a deep breath.

"I'm going to go tell the others you're awake. You'd like to see them, right? Shaun and Rebecca?" Desmond looked up at his statement. William managed a smile. "I'll be back soon, okay?" He squeezed Desmond's hand, trying for all he was worth to be encouraging-- it was all he could do. He turned, taking care with the door, as if Desmond still slept. Desmond relented. He doubted whether or not he was awake, or still dreaming. Neither seemed very desirable.

William walked down the hallway and into the loft. Rebecca sat with Altair, Ezio, Malik and Yusuf on the couches occupying one side of the room. From what William heard, they were undergoing yet another language lesson. Once they all had settled into the loft, they had begun straight away with the ancestor's assimilation to the century.

Shaun stood with Connor in the small kitchen on the opposite side of the loft, the former showing the latter how the microwave worked. William could almost chuckle-- it was ironic to see those who were usually so darkened by death and undeniable duty so wide-eyed with wonderment at things that he and other 21st century-goers took for granted. It had taken nearly half a day for them to explain to the ancestors how they were getting light without any need of rekindling a fire.

"Desmond's awake." William spoke up so the group could hear him. Rebecca and Shaun were the first to react.

"How is he?" Rebecca asked, voice strained with worry. William took yet another deep breath.

"He's not speaking, but there haven't seemed to be any complications. I'm sure he'd be happy to see you two." William's voice quieted, gesturing them to Desmond's room. Shaun and Connor had joined the others. Connor sat down next to Yusuf, and immediately regretted the action as Yusuf smiled and put an arm around Connor's shoulders, welcoming him. Connor tensed, mumbling to Yusuf:

"Please stop." Yusuf had learned enough of the language to understand, bringing his arm back to his side.

_"My apologies, Brother."_

Rebecca walked to Shaun's side, assuring the group that they would be right back.

A small nod between the Shaun and Rebecca was all William got from them before they went together to Desmond's room. The ancestors had fallen silent, somber eyes all trained on William.

"When will we be able to see him?" Connor spoke up after silence had settled in.

"I don't think that's a good idea, at least, not for now." William crossed his arms.

"Why not?"

"It's a very long and complicated story."

"I am listening."

Shaun and Rebecca were unsure of whether to give in to their inherent heartache or cry tears of joy because Desmond was _alive,_ but the man before them seemed little more than hollow. Rebecca clenched her jaw, willing away tears in the furrow of her brow. Shaun took a deep breath, letting the air out soundlessly as the two moved to either side of Desmond's bed.

 _You saved the world, Desmond. You saved the world._ That's what they kept saying, but was it really true? Was a world enslaved really synonymous with _trapped?_

Shaun and Rebecca had come in with such hopeful expressions. Maybe not by the set of their jaws or the stiffness in their shoulders, but the ever persistent reflection in their eyes was what gave it away; it threatened to destroy him. It was as if he were nothing at all, that all that they had all done was for nothing-- Desmond had nothing to offer to those who had so painstakingly stayed by his side through all of the _shit_ that they had been through, that _he_ put them through. He had nothing to say, and he wasn't strong enough to push past the weight in his chest.

He wasn't sure what the feeling was that made his entire battered body clench, relentless tears still falling. _Stop being so self-pitying, Desmond. You don't have the luxury of crying, Desmond. Do better, be better, forget about the shit-hole you used to work in because you'll never have a normal life. You're a failure, Desmond._ He couldn't tell if it was anger, fear, resentment, sadness-- at what, then? Himself, ancestors long past, the ever-repeating cycle that the assassins fought over and over again? Shaun and Rebecca's hopeful eyes were frivolous.

It wasn't until Desmond had come out of his coma that he had cherished numbness-- the kind of feeling that was feeling nothing at all. No grief for tragedy, no guilt for feeling happy or accomplished because there was so much else out in the world that was cruel. It got him through the days where he would drag himself out of the animus after reliving the most painful things a person could live through in Connor; when he pushed himself harder and harder in their race to save the world, there was only so much a person could feel.

He'd sneak out into the harsh Winter night, and just stand or sit or let himself fall so that he lay on the frozen ground until he couldn't feel his fingers and toes or much of anything. The others would find him, drag him-- shivering and sometimes whispering in grief for deaths not his to grieve-- back to into the Temple, draping him in every blanket they had, scolding him like a child time after time. Still, they let him sneak away, or at least let him believe he was. Rebecca assured him that he wouldn't end up like Daniel Cross, but some days-- most days he wasn't so sure.

He couldn't handle it anymore. Desmond-- they all gave and gave but what were they to gain? His eyes distantly moved to his bandaged arm. There was no hope for him, or for any of them if Juno was free. What was the point in fighting? The empty numbness what filled his arm seemed to blossom and spread, pulling a veil over perception and feeling. Desmond was powerless to stop it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. The two voices at his side were muffled and the world around him flattened into shades of gray as he fell to the pit that been tempting him since everything had begun.

Rebecca managed an encouraging smile--a tight line that forcefully kept back everything she wanted to say. Could Desmond hear them, see them? What had the Temple _done_ to him? There wasn't much they could do for him when faced with such an ephemeral and profound power. Rebecca vainly wondered if it wouldn't have been better to have Desmond's sacrifice be final after all. She chastised herself for the thought, however whatever happened after death must be better than hardly living at all.

Rebecca bit her tongue. Desmond would get better. He had to. That's what Desmond always did.

Shaun's eyes fell. There was nothing but _helplessness_ in the situation before him. There was nothing he could do, or that the others could do, or that they could do to help the one who needed it the most. Shaun did what came naturally-- he talked. The silence in the room was making his neck itch with nervous anticipation.

"Glad to see you're alive, Des." Shaun leaned over and put a hand on Desmond's shoulder. "And what were you thinking playing the whole savior card? You _do_ know the outcome for the hero in that one?" The normal bite to Shaun's tone was softened by the waver in his voice.

"Shaun." Rebecca nearly whispered, closing her eyes to hold back tears. Shaun pulled his hand away from Desmond's shoulder, rubbing his own tears away, trying to disguise it by adjusting his glasses.

"I can't tell you what a relief it is that you're awake, mate. You'll be better soon, alright?" Shaun ignored Desmond's arm in his peripheral vision. _Was he lying? Would Desmond recover this time?_

"I guess one of us should get Bill...." Rebecca started.

"Go. I'll stay for a while." Shaun pulled up the chair that William had previously occupied. Rebecca nodded.

William looked at the assassin before him as Connor's face shifted from confusion to awe to struggling to understand and back again. It was no small task to explain the Animus, Those Who Came Before, and Desmond's place in a long line of assassins that were for some reason chosen, _honored_ \-- William spat at the word-- to be the most important for the Ones Who Came Before's ultimate goal. Connor took it in stride.

"But why? Why all this trouble, and time and toil for one man?" Connor leaned closer to William, intent on every word. William sighed.

"I used to think that they wanted to save the world, just as we did, but now... I just don't know." William rubbed a hand over his face.

"These deities' plans set aside, what of this 'Bleeding Effect?' The Animus's benefits are far outweighed by the consequences." Connor's voice darkened. This machine drove men mad. Even if for some greater good, was such damage worth it?

The prospect of being within ages worth of people's minds reminded him of when the voice from the artifact led him by the flight of an eagle through the spirit world-- a world full of the past, present, and future. To spend so much time in such a place seemed-- cruel, to put a word to it. Connor's plights felt daunted next to all that the Animus put Desmond Miles through. Within his own train of thought, Connor missed William's uncomfortable shift. William cleared his throat.

"There's no way around the Bleeding Effect. There was also no other way to save the world, or to stop the Templars. In war, you fight fire with fire or..." Connor's eyes hardened.

"You fight fire with fire and the whole world burns." There was such a bite in his tone that William sat back, remaining silent for a few moments; he averted his gaze from Connor. The man was right. What was their struggle with the Templars and Those Who Came Before if it would only lead to chaos?

"You're right, Connor." Connor's mouth opened in surprise. The sincerity in William's voice was unexpected.

"You fight chaos with peace and freedom-- and though that path may be hard, there will be an end. Faith in that will be what drives men forward." Connor looked away for a moment. It disheartened him that there were still so many conflicts-- even those Connor could hardly even imagine. Still, the fact that through the unimaginable the Brotherhood could persevere was encouraging. If they could fight through that, they could battle the Templars and win. Or so he hoped.

"You understand, though why I can't let you and the others and Desmond interact?" William changed the subject. Connor glanced back at the other assassins, sitting at the other end of the room. They were his ancestors, too. Though they were not entirely of the same blood-- maternal and paternal lines intertwined through millennia to connect them all.

Instead of camaraderie, it disconcerted Connor more than anything. _Why? Why him? Why any of them?_

"I understand." Connor knew what it was to lose-- or almost lose everything that made one who they are; their humanity, their sense of being. Not being able to tell what was really there and barely harvesting the control of his own body. What he could have been would have destroyed him, if it had not stopped. He found it hard to imagine experiencing such profound power as Desmond did, even yet.

"You are not sure whether or not Desmond will stay sane if he sees us." Connor reiterated. William nodded.

"We'll wait until we can assess more about his condition before checking for the Bleeding Effect."

"It still feels wrong to have a fellow Brother in need of help while we do nothing." Connor said. His discomfort set aside, an assassin was family if not close to it. He could not just stand idle as another innocent soul suffered. Scarred skin on his flank tightened. William replied:

"What you're doing now is going to be ever the more helpful in the long run. Once we get back on our feet," _If that's even possible,_ "we'll need all the help we can get. And a group of the most skilled fighters in our Brotherhood's history will be the best thing for that. To help, you all need to know how to function in this century. That's our goal now." Though it seemed fruitless and nebulous and frankly _terrifying_ , it still felt comfortable to make a plan, and give orders to achieve it. He was better at being a leader than a consoler. _Or maybe even a father._

William looked over to where Yusuf, Malik, Altair, and Ezio sat, watching the warmness in which they communicated to one another. Maybe he'd failed at being a father and a mentor; that's how his son ended up where he did-- that's why they _all_ ended up where they were.

Rebecca came up behind him, nudging his shoulder to pull him out of his reverie.

"How is he?" William stiffened.

"Desmond's fine. Shaun's with him now, we figured you'd want to take over." William stood.

"Thank you, Rebecca. How are these guys doing?" William gestured to the ancestors.

"Pretty well, actually." Rebecca walked across the loft. "We decided to start tackling Modern English, first. They're more adept than I was expecting, actually; though it will still take a while until they're fluent."

"Good. What else do you have planned?" William crossed his arms.

"Shaun wants to get them into the whole 'indoor-plumbing-and-bathing-every-day' thing; he can't stand how they smell." Rebecca leaned against the arm of one of the couches. William raised his eyebrows.

"Fair enough. What about clothing?" "We'll have to go out, or get some extra clothes from one of the assassin outposts. Until then, we can just keep them in here." William nodded in agreement, saying nothing.

"When will Ruben come back for the...?" _Amputation._ the word felt bitter and wrong and nothing that Desmond should have ever had to go through. She thought of the blank expression on his face-- and how much turmoil must be happening where they couldn't see it. Rebecca couldn't finish her question. William answered anyway.

"Either tomorrow or the next day. He has yet to specify a time." William didn't have the heart to call Ruben himself.

Rebecca recognized the grief in William's voice.

"Shaun and I will be there for you, and for him, William. Everything will turn out sooner or later." What did _turning out_ even mean in this situation? Rebecca put a hand on William's arm. The latter said nothing, only looking to the floor, breaking their eye contact.

"I'm going to go get Shaun." Rebecca took her hand off of William's arm.

"Okay." She looked down as William walked away, taking a deep breath, trying to quell the rising emotion in their situation. She focused on the ancestors in front of her, sitting next to Yusuf and beckoning Connor to join them.

 _"Ezio, are you well versed in any Literature? Dante, Machiavelli?"_ Rebecca asked. Reading a modern translation of something familiar would undoubtedly speed up the ancestors' learning process. Before Ezio could speak, Yusuf interjected:

 _"Well he was best friends with Niccolo, he had to have read_ some _of the man's writings."_ Italian rolled off Yusuf's tongue seamlessly. Rebecca blinked.

"Yusuf..."

 _"Yusuf?!"_ Ezio picked up where Rebecca had trailed off. _"Since when are you fluent in Italian?"_

 _"Since I've lived in Constantinople for most of my life. They don't call it The Crossroads of the World for nothing, my friend."_ Yusuf raised his arms to emphasize the effect of his statement. While a wry grin covered Yusuf's face, Ezio's was caught in between disbelief and irritation.

 _"I stumbled over Turkish for_ months _because you claimed you couldn't understand Italian!"_

_"I was playing with you. You take such things so seriously, Brother."_

_"The Auditore name is very important to me, Yusuf. As is my birthplace. The same as you."_ Yusuf smiled.

 _"I'm just trying to offer you another perspective of the world, Ezio."_ Yusuf put a hand on Ezio's back.

 _"You are ridiculous."_ There was sentiment in Ezio's voice.

"Yusuf, how many languages can you speak?" Rebecca blurted in bewilderment. Ezio hadn't been the only one who was expecting Yusuf to be the hardest to teach.

Despite Yusuf's apparent affinity for language, he was still learning the one Rebecca and the others spoke. Yusuf shrugged his shoulders and smiled in submission.

 _"What?"_   Yusuf switched to his native tongue. Rebecca smirked.

_"I asked how many languages you can speak."_

_"A few."_

_"Well, you're learning a new one rather well."_

"Thank you." The words were deliberate and careful. Rebecca smiled.

 _"Aren't you special, Yusuf Tazim_ da Istanbul." Rebecca could have sworn Ezio was _pouting._ Rebecca had to cover her mouth and pretend to cough to stifle her laughter. Yusuf and Ezio continued to banter between themselves.

_"If I were Italian, that would be my title, would it not be?"_

_"Except for you're not Italian, and you weren't born in Istanbul."_ Yusuf waved an arm.

 _"Minor details."_ Ezio protested as Rebecca was drawn away from their conversation by Shaun entering the room.

"Bill wants to know if you've got the security systems online yet." Shaun sighed. Minor details; things to keep them busy. Recognized and accepted, Shaun and Rebecca followed them.

"Not entirely. The building's wired with alarms-- that much was easy to fix, but the jamming signals that allow this sector to go dark still need to be worked on. The equipment needed is hypersensitive, so adjusting the frequencies again will take some time."

"Well, I suppose we have a bit more of that than we did, now that the apocalypse has been averted." Bitterness seeped into Shaun's tone. Rebecca looked away.

"What can I do to help?" Shaun then asked.

"Does this outpost have a store of books or literature?" Shaun's eyes narrowed in curiosity.

"I think so."

"See if you can find some old Italian literature-- the translated stuff. And any others you can find in Turkish or Arabic."

"What am I, a librarian?"

"You kind of look like the one in my old elementary school." Shaun rolled his eyes.

"Take Connor with you." Connor came to attention as Rebecca beckoned him toward Shaun.

"Right. Okay." Shaun rubbed his hands together. "Let me know if anything comes up, alright?" As Shaun passed Rebecca, he laid his hand on her shoulder momentarily, before gesturing for Connor to follow him. "Let's go look for a library. Hopefully this one doesn't take five keys and eagle vision to get into." Connor stayed silent at his side, while Rebecca berated him.

"That's _especially_ not funny, Shaun."

"I _do_ beg to differ." Shaun called back, leaving the room and closing the door behind Connor as they made it into the hall. "Let's go find a library, then, shall we?"

Shaun had a vague idea of where the Assassins kept their literature. Contrary to Brothers passed, their small-- though eclectic-- library was on one of the top floors. In a hidden room, nevertheless, however instead of secretive, it felt free. Within half an hour, Shaun and Connor were able to find it.

Being in such a profound place as a library made Shaun feel some semblance of _normal_ , for once in a long time. Libraries were simple-- there were no ethereal beings deciding destiny and fate, or advanced technology so to drive the mortal to insanity. The only wonders were that among the pages of books of history and life-- all that was there could be imagined by the human mind. _Maybe that's why we're so dull compared to Those Who Came Before._ Shaun mused, eyes wandering back and forth as he walked through stack after stack of books.

"What should I be looking for, exactly?" Connor called from another bookshelf.

"Look for the name Dante, or Machiavelli. Generally anything from Syria or Turkey, as well. Make sure it's in English." Shaun called back.

"Okay." Connor's voice lingered, as if something caught his attention. Shaun turned back to the task at hand, a part of him not wanting to leave such a peaceful place. It reminded him of simpler days; the days when conspiracy theories were his side job, when life was harmlessly fickle and the end of the world was only a rumor on paper. Shaun reached up to one of the shelves, rubbing his thumb against the books and their time-softened spines. If there was ever a time Shaun Hastings would be nostalgic, it would be then.

"Shaun?" Connor tentatively walked toward him, eyes cast down to a book in his hands. Shaun shook his head, pulling himself out of his head.

"Yeah, what is it, mate?" Connor's eyes narrowed for a moment as he looked up. Shaun's way of talking was strange to him.

"What happened to my people, in the future?" Shaun looked to the book Connor was holding. He barely caught the slight shake in Connor's hands. Shaun's stomach dropped in a deep ache of sympathy. He took a deep breath.

"You have your answer in your hands. Colonialism. Unfortunately, not only the Mohawk people were driven out of their homelands."

"What of the strive for freedom, for equality, for justice?" There was a boyish timbre to Connor's voice. Shaun was at a loss.

"You can see it with the Assassin's struggle. History changes even things set in stone. It repeats itself."

"Do my people still live?" Connor looked away. Shaun saw the drop of a tear from the shadows Connor's hair cast.

"In their modern day tribe, yes. As do other Native tribes around the world. Even through tragedy, the human race is stubborn." Connor grit his teeth. All of his work, again for nothing. Even the Assassins couldn't save them, with their talk of peace and freedom.

"Tell me about it."

"What? There's kind of a lot to cover, there."

"All of it. Everything you know that's happened from the Revolution to now regarding my people and other tribes." The sternness in Connor's eyes would have made a meeker soul whither. Shaun nodded. He walked to a table that sat next to one of the windows; it looked out over the city.

"Let's get started, then." Shaun told Connor everything in harsh and grueling detail. He told of colonialism, of the Mohawk, the different people of the Iroquois, Native Americans far and wide who faced loss of identity, massacre's, and objectification in advances of the modern world. Connor listened, eyes so intent to absorbing the information like a sponge. His expression was caught between neutrality, sadness, and anger. Shaun couldn't tell which one he preferred. When he finished, Connor had even more questions.

By the end of their conversation, Shaun felt a part of himself altered. He'd always studied history objectively-- it had happened, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even though events had happened, it was never really real-- even when watching the feed from the Animus. Talking to Connor, someone who had lived through what he had only learned about, and telling him that really, _nothing had changed_ and if anything it only got _worse..._ it made Shaun wish he could change it.

He dismissed the sentiment as it had time to settle. That's why they were fighting as they did-- Shaun thought of Desmond. History doesn't always repeat itself. _Instead of  the world burning, it was saved._

Connor's eyes bore into Shaun as the silence stretched. Apologizing to the man before him would do nothing. Still, it was a comforting sentiment.

"I'm sorry, Connor." Connor looked to Shaun as he debated the emotions coursing through him. Underneath a layer of stoicism, Connor battled a thousand. He wanted to feel anger toward _something,_ toward the man in front of him whose voice vaguely reminded him of those he had fought, of those he lost, toward the ambiguous name that developed into something to be feared, abhorred. Connor wanted to weep in the face of his futility, of what centuries of people lost, partly because he failed. Would it have made a difference? What is one man in the face of such monumental odds?

He remembered that the man before him was also an assassin. They all were. Connor supposed that they-- that _he_ had to do what the Assassins always did; They would fight to obtain peace.

***

William rubbed the sleep from his eyes, leaning on the side of Desmond's bed. Desmond had fallen into sleep again; William couldn't help but scoff at the irony that sleep brought anything to them. Such peace, while everything in the waking world was ravaging in war.

He supposed that silence was better than screaming-- he had lost count of the nights when Desmond had succumbed to the Bleeding Effect through the vulnerability of sleep, and woken with the most agonized cries on his lips.

William vainly wondered if he preferred the noise or not. Of all the times he had told Desmond to _stop crying, an assassin is silent-- was that as a father, or a mentor?--_ William regretted every single one of them.

Every time he changed the bandages on Desmond's arm, he had felt every muscle in his heart clench, as if it wanted to stop. It seemed the remorse would never leave him. What would they do, with the Templars after them and no options outside of running? The Assassin's struggle never ceased.

"Desmond?" William tried. When his son did not stir from his sleep-- dreaming? Floating in nothingness?-- William sighed, voice cracking as he spoke again.

"You know, when you were little, you'd beg me to tell you stories. It never mattered what they were about-- you just loved to be immersed in something that wasn't real." _It's my fault, he's broken because of me, because I drilled him so hard so that he ran away._ William paused as tears made it out of his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his face.

"Your favorite used to be..." William's words stopped as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He froze, breath hitching in his throat. The moment he'd been dreading had finally come. It was the hardest thing William had ever done to answer the call.

***

Yusuf regarded those around him with a warm air of friendship. They may all have been from different times and different places, but wasn't everyone? The two from Syria-- Altair and Malik-- though they were young men, not yet in their thirtieth year, seemed wise and ancient yet beyond their years. Altair had the bearings of one who was capable and not a little haughty, however his sharp golden eyes conveyed a humbled soul. Malik was harsh, yet he moved with a gentleness that made Yusuf smile.

Their speech was dense and hard to grasp, yet Yusuf had picked up threads of Arabic from travelers and informants who would journey from Jerusalem or Damascus; he could catch phrases and words to help him understand. Altair and Malik's stories filled him with wonder of a Brotherhood long since passed. It made the Assassin cause seem even more just and noble, in a way to have such a history.

Yusuf was curious about the one they called Connor. He was big, but held within him a kindness that extended to all those who would not take advantage of it. Yusuf wanted to learn more about him, as he wanted to learn more about the place he and the others now resided.

The shock had taken a while to wear off; such a new place with such different sounds and sights and people was jarring at the least. It disheartened him when he thought of the faces he passed on the street. At one time, passerby were inviting and friendly, not afraid to extend themselves for another. Here, it seemed that everyone was too wrapped in their own heads to take note of those around them. It was intimidating, however Yusuf noted with the rue of a Master Assassin that it could be something to exploit, if ever the need arose.

With the thought, a faint, though deep ache for _Kostantiniyye_ pained him. Though he knew that such a place may not even have been possible to go back to-- time had changed lands and borders and people; no one would remember a man by the name of Yusuf Tazim. The prospect made him fear, yet it could not quell a peculiar sort of excitement in being in such a new place, full of life and people and stories. He turned himself to his task at hand. Communication was essential just as defense and knowledge was.

Yusuf turned to Ezio, scanning the mentor's face as he concentrated on writing what Rebecca had told him to while she worked across the room-- translating different verbs and forming sentences. It was so menial--- it made them feel like they were children, again. Perhaps the feeling was liberating, the idea of being young and amiable.

The mentor's brow was furrowed, so intent on his task that Yusuf could feel the box he was putting himself in. Yusuf put a hand on Ezio's shoulder, the sudden movement making Ezio jump.

 _"That scowl is yours and yours alone, but it has gotten deeper since I've last seen you. I didn't think such a thing was possible"_ Ezio raised his eyebrows.

 _"I was concentrating."_  

 _"No,"_ Yusuf held up a finger, _"concentrating is what you were just doing, physically. It's the virtue of your bearings underneath that determine a scowl."_ Behind Yusuf's wry grin was pure sentiment.

 _"I don't know what you're talking about."_ Ezio returned to his work. Yusuf sighed.

 _"Do not fret,_ il mentore _, I feel the burden too. Did you ever complete your mission?"_ Yusuf changed the subject. Ezio nodded.

_"It is how I ended up here."_

_"I have to ask, Ezio. Sofia..."_ Yusuf's voice dropped in solemnity.

 _"She was saved."_ Ezio offered no more, but the conviction in his voice assured Yusuf. He hadn't completely failed, then. There was something to salvage from that.

***

William hung up the phone, numbness coursing through shaking hands. _Tomorrow._ The word echoed through his head as if it were hollow, deafening him with the bombardment of sound. He almost didn't hear Rebecca as she came into the room.

"William." Rebecca knocked on the door as she walked in. "We found this in Desmond's bag... I think you'll want to see it." Rebecca held out Desmond's cell phone.

"It still works?" Rebecca nodded.

"I found some files-- random stuff, mostly. Pictures, old text messages... and then I found some audio files."

"That's what phones are used for, Rebecca."

"They're dated from the later part of this year." _Since Abstergo captured him._ William slowly reached to take the phone, trying to stifle the quiver of his fingers.

"Have you listened to them?" Rebecca nodded, her somber eyes downcast. "I figured you'd want to hear them." Rebecca turned, quietly making her way out of the room. William let out a shaky sigh, accessing the saved audio files on Desmond's phone. Steeling himself, he put the receiver up to his ear and started listening, eyes locked on the floor. He feared that if he looked anywhere else, he'd break.

No matter what he did, William could do nothing for the tears that streamed down his face as he finished the last audio file. It felt as though he hadn't heard Desmond's voice for _years_ though it had merely been days. Had William really been so deaf and blind to Desmond's suffering? William-- and the others too-- had been so focused on the fact that he was the conduit to stop the catastrophe... _that we couldn't see the boy inside that was screaming for comfort._

William had hardly grasped Desmond's capacity for forgiveness, too. He regretted the one move that made him forget his role as a protector and made him give in to his frustration. The memory stood out in stark contrast, even as he tried to push it away. He had _hit his son._ His own child, so vulnerable and human and already broken that he gave in to his own emotions, despite years of berating Desmond for not controlling his. There was nothing that could take that away. All Desmond had wanted was to go home. William still held that shred of bitterness inside of him.

He placed Desmond's phone gently on the table at his bedside. No matter the exhaustion that tugged at his every seam, William would not sleep that night. He settled back in his chair, gritting his teeth as more tears fell. _Desmond had known he was going to die. Even yet, he still said nothing of it. Nobility. Bravery._ He certainly didn't learn that from William.

William let his eyes wander to the window on the opposite wall from him. _Desmond's favorite stories-- were the ones with happy endings._

***

The time went by in a blur, and before William knew it, time was frozen before him as he stood beside Desmond, Ruben opposite him as they prepared. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

It wasn't until they unwrapped Desmond's arm that they all came to a realization. As William carefully undid the bandages, Desmond's blank expression altered when his brow furrowed. Suddenly, Desmond let out a wail of pain, pulling his arm away and flinching back.

"Desmond? What is it?" William straightened, holding out his hands in an anxious gesture. Desmond writhed where he lay, eyes tightly shut and teeth grit. "Desmond, talk to me." If anyone heard the break in William's voice, no one mentioned it.

"It...it.... _hurts._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and bearing with me so far!
> 
> Also, as a side note: I hope to also make some time to do artwork for this fic. I have a lot of ideas that I think would be really neat, so look out for that (later rather than sooner I'm guessing, but you never know)
> 
> Anyway, thank you SO much for your patience and support, I hope you have enjoyed the story thus far. As always, don't hesitate to review, comment, and critique, it is very much appreciated!


	4. The Tendency to Adapt

It had started with a prickling-- something so minute that Desmond scarcely noticed it. As William unwrapped the bandages on his arm, it wasn't until the prickling became searing _agony_ that Desmond had registered anything within the numb fugue he had settled into. A burning as hot as the sun itself permeated layers of charred black skin and fused bone.

There was a moment his senses sharpened as the pain set-- hyperaware sight and sound hitting him; the blunt force pushing him to a state of agony-ridden shock. There were voices around him; William, Shaun, Rebecca, and another face... his father had told him the man's name, but nothing would register in his head. His arm _hurt,_ everything _hurt_ and there was nothing else Desmond could focus on. The clarity of the world around him turned to blurred vertigo as fire devoured him. Was he still at the Temple? Had being alive and saved been an illusion? Was death forever being caught in the plasma-blue fire of the Ones Who Came Before's power?

William's voice reached him, lethargic and ringing in his ears as he struggled for _something_ to keep him grounded. His father's voice was a beacon in the nebula where Desmond was lost. In that moment, every opposition that Desmond had had with his father was washed away by a primal instinct of a child to their parent. A father would protect, and without thinking, Desmond cried out for William to make it _stop._

The room was filled with another cry of pain. Desmond's left hand clenched in the sheets. William's mouth dropped open in surprise, panic refusing to be quelled as he scrambled for what to do. Ruben put a firm hand on Desmond's shoulder, trying to calm him. By the sound of his cries, it seemed that nothing would.

"It's not possible." Shaun whispered, darting to Desmond's side. "The burns were so extensive as to have _no_ nervous response, let alone _this._ "

"Well, it's happening now. Get sedatives, or painkillers, or both, whatever will help." William fought to keep his voice level. The next worst thing to seeing one's own child die is to see them in such pain. William moved forward to put his hand on Desmond's other shoulder, trying to stop him from moving so viciously.

"Rebecca, there's a syringe with a sedative on the cart with my instruments on it. Grab it, _now._ " Ruben ordered. Rebecca bolted across the room, picking up the syringe and handing it to Ruben.

Desmond tried to push past the pressure on his shoulders-- they were _trapping_ him in the pain that ravaged and burned; he wanted _out._

Even with the sedation Ruben gave, Desmond still didn't calm. Ruben called to Rebecca for another syringe.

"How much are you giving him?" William demanded.

"Enough to knock him out. The amount of pain he's in, he'll go into shock if we can't." Ruben's eyes met William's for a moment, the determination in either man's equal. He looked back to Desmond as Rebecca handed Ruben another needle. The door opened as the ancestors came to aid them; their own confusion and fear just as evident as any of them.

"Shaun, go. Tell the ancestors they're not to come in here, no matter what." William ordered.

"William, I..."

" _Now_ , Hastings." William raised his voice. Shaun turned to make for the door.

"He can't communicate with them." Rebecca interjected. William didn't have to say a word for Rebecca to act on her statement. She turned and pushed past Shaun, grabbing Yusuf by the shoulder and ordering the other's away. Shaun shut the door behind them, jogging back to Desmond's bedside.

The sedatives had finally started acting-- though Desmond still struggled, his movements became more lethargic, his cries dulled to half-hearted whimpers and groans.

When he finally stilled, William let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Ruben's gaze was as cold as Shaun's was bewildered. Rebecca came running back into the room, stopping by Shaun's side.

"What the _fuck_?" Rebecca said, her breath heavy. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"We go about as planned." Ruben turned to the instrument tray.

"No." William's voice was hard, desperation making its way to the surface as his voice cracked.

" The burns are still exposing his body to infection, and they're so severe that even if he's suddenly regained feeling, they won't heal." Ruben was adamant.

"I said _no_ , Ruben." William said.

"Desmond..."

"Desmond is my _son_. There wasn't a chance in hell that he'd feel _anything_ below his elbow, but now look what's happened. It _is healing_ , Ruben."

"We don't know whether that was in pain, or another one of the Bleeding Effect's delusions." Ruben countered.

"Don't you _dare_." William growled, venom dripping with every word. "Those were cries of unrelenting pain, more profound than any of his ancestors have been through. That was _Desmond_ , not ghosts of Ezio, Altair, or Connor." William lashed ruthlessly. He didn't know what all of what had happened meant, but it was _something_ , and it had to harness hope.

"So, if you two are done establishing new levels on the decibel scale, look at this." Shaun pointed to Desmond's arm, the bandages half unwrapped.

The sight wasn't pretty-- but it had _changed_. Instead of a solid plane of blackened skin, patches of it were cracking, red oozing from beneath it. William grimaced, but he could have sworn he saw the slightest twitch in Desmond's fingers.

"Unbelievable." Ruben whispered.

"It seems that word describes most of our lives, now." William responded.

"So what do we do?" Rebecca asked.

"Skin grafts. It's our best-- and only option right now." Ruben crossed his arms. William clenched his jaw, finally nodding.

"What do you need?"

"I'm going to need more supplies. These facilities aren't the best, but they're all we have. I'll make a trip back to my apartment, and come right back. Until then, keep it wrapped and as clean as you can." Ruben gestured to Desmond's arm before turning away. William watched Ruben leave, disbelief written on every contour of his face. His eyes flicked between the others and Desmond; for once, William had nothing to say to them, nothing to order them to do because he had _no idea what was going on._

A whimper that welled in Desmond's throat snapped William out of his confusion. If he dwelled, he would lose himself; Desmond needed _somebody_.

They re-bandaged Desmond's arm, wincing at the slight twitches that Desmond's charred fingers made. It reminded William of whenever Desmond was in the Animus, deep within the throes of memories as dreams that had in turn filled his head with ghosts.

As they waited for Ruben to return, William nervously shifted on his feet, struggling to quell the nausea that roiled at the base of his throat. This-- _development_ gave him hope, but with hope came an inherent fear that it would all be lost at the drop of a hat. William sent Shaun and Rebecca away, taking his vigil by Desmond's side again. He would never admit it, but he felt as though he were a scared boy, away from home and floundering for something familiar in a world that made no sense.

William sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. His eyes felt grainy and eyelids heavy, yet he was determined not to yield. He paced anxiously, alternating with sitting; wringing his hands.

_Hang in there, Desmond. Please._ It was one thing to face the precursor's power and die with it-- it was an entirely different thing to _live_ with it. Desmond's cry for him to make his pain stop reverberated in William's head, an echo that wouldn't fade. His duty as a father was stripped away by such extenuating circumstances.

Even in unconsciousness, Desmond's face was drawn to convey the shock his body was fighting. Even while Desmond's chest rose and fell in a calm, steady cadence, William couldn't overlook the pale pallor of Desmond's skin or the sheen of sweat that had formed over it. Even if his arm was healing, it still seemed as though Desmond was dying-- something that William couldn't live through again.

William was violently pulled out of his introspection when Ruben came through the door. William jumped, standing and pushing his chair aside.

"Easy, it's just me."

"Ruben..." William cleared his throat, voice catching.

"I have all of the supplies I need."

"Good." The two men paused, neither moving from their spots.

"I need to do this alone, William. I need everything sterile that I can have." William Miles was known for the coldness of his stare, and even Ruben felt battered by it in that moment. Flint gray turned to Northern Winter with a blink. Ruben held his ground.

"Get some rest William. You of all people need it."

"I need..."

"William. I know this is your son, and you don't want to leave his side. But you're going to have to." _Compromise for victory._ The gray area in every war story. William was at a loss.

"You have two other assassins and a group from centuries ago who need guidance. You're the only one who can give it." It seemed ages before William assented. "I'll help make him better, Bill. I promise." William sighed.

"Fine." Uncertainly, William moved forward, leaning over to kiss Desmond's forehead; it was as if he were a child who'd just fallen asleep after a nightmare. William only wished that waking was better than sleep. "Let me know if anything happens." William mumbled to Ruben before leaving the room.

William stood with his back to the closed door to Desmond's room for minutes that felt suspended as hours in anticipation. Finally, he took a deep breath and walked down the hallway and into the loft. Nothing would get done if he stood and did nothing. Shaun was continually discussing the situation with Rebecca, the ancestors sitting in a struggled understanding of his words.

"I don't know how this is _possible._ Desmond had _fourth degree burns_... at that point, regenerative cells would have all died; his arm would be lost."

_"You should be grateful that such a thing could happen at all."_ Malik's hard gaze met Shaun's bewildered expression. The latter hardened as William spoke.

"The important thing to remember is that this is potentially a good thing. Ruben is doing all he can to help."

"What if it doesn't work?" Rebecca questioned. None of them dared to think in such terms, but a possibility could happen regardless of what they thought.

"Then we adapt. The Brotherhood has endured because of its ability to." Shaun and Rebecca collectively sighed.

"It doesn't make any _sense._ " Shaun crossed his arms.

"It makes about as much sense as it does that they are here. All of them, not only Desmond's ancestors." William gestured to Malik and Yusuf.

"Could this be Juno's doing?" Rebecca suggested.

"Juno wanted Desmond dead-- or at least expected him to be." Shaun said.

"What about Minerva? She was the one to talk to Desmond in the first place." William started pacing. Every few minutes, he anxiously glanced back to Desmond's room. _Men fear what they do not understand_. William took a steadying breath.

_"Minerva mentioned in the Temple that Desmond was an 'enigma' even to them. Whatever has happened, they had no control over it."_ Altair spoke. Rebecca nodded, translating for the others.

_"But what about how you all got here? You were all near or utilizing Pieces of Precursor technology. That can't have been a coincidence."_ Rebecca suggested. Her voice was alive with curiosity, yet underneath it was weary. They all were.

_"While that may be true of those who are related to Desmond Miles, what does that mean of us?"_ Yusuf interjected, gesturing a hand toward Malik. Shaun scrubbed a hand over his face.

_"Other than the fact that you were both acquaintances of assassins in Desmond's ancestry, I don't know of any other connections. I'll do some research."_ Rebecca offered.

"Well, none of this is going to be answered now, so we may as well get something productive done. I vote we continue the ancestor's assimilation to the century by way of _bathing_. Honestly, if I can _still_ smell you people after being in the same quarters as you for days, it is something horrific."

"Shaun Hastings, master of inappropriate subject changes since the beginning of time." Rebecca taunted.

"Shaun's right. No matter what happens, we need to plan as if these guys are here to stay. Shaun, start showing them how the shower works." Shaun's jaw dropped in a pout.

"Why _me_?"

"You're a boy, they're boys, and we're busy." Rebecca quipped. "Plus, you're the one who has been so adamantly suggesting it for the past few days."

"Never did I ever think that I'd be teaching centuries-old assassins how to _bathe_. They don't understand English yet, I don't think they'll take kindly to me gesturing for them to take off their clothes." Rebecca snorted.

"I know they have something to be desired, but I never thought that's where your mind would be." Shaun's face flushed.

"I didn't....I know...you... That is  _not_ what I meant." Shaun huffed.

"Hey, if that's the way you roll, that's fine by me." Rebecca smirked. After letting Shaun ruminate for a few seconds, she turned to Altair and Malik.

_"Shaun's going to take you to where you can shower."_

_"What?"_ Altair's brow furrowed.

_"Where you can bathe. People do it a lot more often in the 21st century than during the Crusades. Just watch what he does and you'll get the gist of it."_ Malik nodded, Altair locked eyes with Shaun. Noticing Altair tense beside him, Malik chuckled.

_"This one never was too fond of baths."_ Malik jested. Altair elbowed Malik in the ribs, the latter dodging and laughing harder.

_"Maybe if you didn't dump_ buckets of water _on me."_

_"That's because you smelled worse than the sick and dying in Acre. I had a Bureau to run, and I would not have the others be driven away because of your stench. All things aside, what kind of Dai would I be if I kept a filthy Bureau?"_

_"Whatever you say, Malik."_

"Can we _please_ get on with this?" Shaun snapped.

"Go ahead." Rebecca motioned to Altair, Malik, and Shaun. Shaun sighed, and with a huff he beckoned Altair and Malik to follow him.

"What will you have these guys doing, then?" William pointed to Ezio, Yusuf, and Connor.

"Ezio and Yusuf are hell bent on playing a game of chess, and Connor's going to learn the ways of the internet."

"Have we figured out the clothing situation, yet?" William regarded Connor, who even after relentless coaxing from Rebecca and Shaun refused to let his weapons leave his side.

"It hasn't really been an issue, yet. We haven't needed to blend with the general population."

"We will sooner or later. We need to be prepared."

"I know, Bill. It's not the easiest to get five old-age assassins used to the twenty-first century in weeks' time." Irritation seeped into her tone. William was more surprised than anything at the sudden outburst, yet he understood. He nodded.

"Just do what you can." He turned, making his way to the windows.

The setting sun cast a burnt orange through the smog-filled city. He looked to the streets and people below him-- _such decadent lives_ still _moving forward,_ still _alive even though ours has been arrested. Why?_ \-- William felt a naive child asking penance for things he could hardly understand, for some sort of salvation; he asked for things he thought would never come.

No matter what William did, he couldn't get the echoes of Desmond's phone recordings out of his head. Every slander of the work Desmond was doing William had given felt the most mortal of sins, the desperation in his son's voice-- if only to be heard-- made his chest clench. Why had he never _listened?_

Could he blame himself for what happened? _Desmond had been ready to die, who had taught him that conviction?_ Perhaps if William hadn't pushed him so hard, Desmond wouldn't have seen dying in the Temple as the only solution.

_The Messiah, one who sacrifices themselves for others to thrive._ The Templar cross flashed through William's mind. He could laugh at the irony. The very embodiment of Templar ideals belonged to the Assassin cause. The thought made William's stomach roil. In fear, rue, or apathy he couldn't tell which. _William_ of all people wouldn't have had the ability to raise someone so profoundly noble, and yet Desmond was.

For Desmond's apparent cynicism regarding humanity, he had such high hopes for what he was sacrificing himself for. _The beauty and the horror of the Animus_. Maybe he saw something, _experienced something_ that made him change his mind. Maybe it wasn't what he was doing for, but _why_ he was doing it.

Every one of William's _maybes_ brought even more uncertainty. That coupled with the excruciatingly slow passing of time-- every time William looked at the clock it seemed to be frozen-- made William want to claw at something. He looked down, putting his hand on the window frame and taking a deep breath.

Some semblance of composure was broken as shouts roused him from his thoughts. William turned, Rebecca bolting from her seat and down the hall where the shouts resonated-- _Shaun_. William followed Rebecca, motioning for the others to stay put.

***

_"Altair, it's just water."_

_"It is_ not _just water it is being shot down at me at alarming speeds it is a threat I_ can't swim Malik." Altair's words came out in a rush. He leaned against the bathroom wall, breathing heavily.

_"Look at how deep that is. You cannot drown in that."_ Malik almost scoffed. The entire situation was _ridiculous_ but the fear in Altair's eyes was ever too real. Malik held Altair by his shoulders; Shaun gripped the edge of the sink across the room, trying to calm his near _palpitating heart_ because Altair _threw him there_ in his panic at how the shower worked.

_"I've seen people drown in_ fountains _and those aren't even for bathing."_

_"Altair, those are people who don't have mind enough to determine the difference from a fountain and_ rain. _"_   Rebecca and William came running through the door, wary of the shouts they heard. Rebecca blinked as she looked from Altair, to Shaun, and back again.

"What _happened_ , Shaun?"

"I was _trying_ to show the _Grandmaster_ of our Brotherhood how to bathe, but it seems he might be slightly adverse to water." Shaun's voice cracked in his sarcasm. Rebecca rolled her eyes.

"Did you show them _before_ you stuck him in there?" She was already moving to hand Altair a towel.

"Was that inherent in the command you gave me? Because I didn't pick up on it."

"Hastings, I give you _one job_..." Rebecca was only half-jesting. Genuine concern shone in her face as she regarded Altair.

_"Are you okay?"_ Altair's nervous eyes darted from Malik to Rebecca. Finally, he nodded, water dripping off of his face.

_"He panicked."_ Malik answered for Altair.

_"I'm fine."_ Altair's voice was cold, yet it still retained some of the waver of his fear. He shook Malik off of his shoulders, grabbing the towel from Rebecca, wrapping himself in it. Rebecca backed up, letting Altair have his space.

"Well now we know why Altair doesn't do baths. He's hydrophobic. Unbelievable." Shaun threw his hands in the air.

"Shaun, search the closet storage for clothing. We need something other than their dirty robes." Rebecca ignored Shaun's comment. The man sighed, a muttered _fine_ making its way out of his mouth before leaving the room. Rebecca's eyes moved back to Altair's. There was silence before she spoke.

_"So you're afraid of water?"_ It explained why Desmond would desynchronize so often whenever Altair was near a body of it. Altair broke their eye contact, ears reddening as embarrassment flared within him. Finally, he nodded, the movement so slight that Rebecca would have missed it had she not been looking. _"It's okay, Altair."_ Rebecca warily put a hand on Altair's shoulder.

_"If you don't mind me asking..."_ She started.

_"We were doing a training exercise near a river when we were young."_ Malik spoke. _"This genius challenged that he could cross the river by hopping between rocks that were just above its surface. He slipped, and not being able to swim he almost drowned. Since our training instructor wasn't with us at the time, I had to jump in and save this_ novice. _To this day he_ still _hasn't learned how to swim."_ Malik explained.

_"Why?"_

_"We're from the deserts of Syria. There has never been a pressing need."_ Rebecca could have sworn Altair was getting _defensive_.

_"But why the aversion to water?"_

_"Being in water offers so little control. My life is no longer in my own hands."_

_"Maybe if you actually_ learned _how to swim and didn't flounder like a fish out of water when you were_ in _the water you'd feel differently."_ Malik chimed.

_"Malik..."_ Altair snapped.

_"I can swim better than you and I have_ one arm. _"_

_"I apologize for my inability, I wasn't aware that...."_

_"You two are literally a married couple."_ Rebecca stifled laughter with great difficulty; she received bewildered looks and furrowed brows in response. She was about to explain when Shaun came back, holding a set of clothes. He held them out for Altair. The Master Assassin cast a confused look between the clothing and the man offering it.

_"For you to change into."_ Rebecca said to Altair before turning to Shaun. "Help Malik, now. I have to tend to the others."

"I don't think...." Malik's hard gaze threatened to whither Shaun as their eyes met. "I think Malik got the gist of it."

"Well, then wait outside. We can't just leave them alone. Besides, now you have more experience in the 'teaching centuries-old assassins division.'" Rebecca patted Shaun on the shoulder before heading for the door.

"Rebecca, next time that I have a brilliant plan, do me a favor and ignore it." Shaun called after her. Rebecca smirked.

"Already done, Hastings." Rebecca walked back out to the loft, smiling to herself as she found Ezio and Yusuf already engrossed in a chess game.

"I don't even know where they found the board." William was sitting next to Connor at the table next to Rebecca's equipment, a befuddled look on his face.

"When two want to go to war, there is nothing that will stop them." Rebecca shrugged her shoulders. William rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"Chess, stripped down to its fundamentals is nothing but a game of war." Connor's brow furrowed. Achilles had never taught it to him. When one thought of it in those terms, it should be something every Assassin should know.

"Besides," Rebecca continued, "they're best friends and they love to play together; and I found it for them and then told them where it was." William sighed.

"Did you resolve the problem with Shaun and Altair and Malik?" William leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. Rebecca nodded as she took her seat.

"Altair is afraid of water and Shaun still can't understand Arabic."

"Great."

"You should get some sleep, Bill."

"I can't." _Not with Desmond in such a critical state, not when no one knew what was going on._ Sleep was a luxury that none of them could afford.

"Ruben's going to be in there for god knows how long. There's nothing you can do right now. I'll let you know if anything comes up." The circles underneath William's eyes had gotten darker, the wrinkles on his face more pronounced and his face more drawn. He needed the rest and would further neglect to if no one forced it on him. It was Déjà vu from when Desmond was in a coma.

"No."

"What are you going to do for the next few hours, then? Pace with that worried look in your eyes?"

"I could help..."

"Shaun and I....well, _I've_ got the ancestor situation handled for now. You haven't slept in days."

"Neither have you two."

"I don't like to play the 'young and spry card, but'...."

"I can't sleep, now, Rebecca. Not with my son in such dire straits."

"He'd want you to take care of yourself."

"Don't you do that." William stood.

"Bill..."

"Don't go the 'he'd want the best for you' route because all that means is that we've given up." Rebecca put her hands up.

"Okay. I'm sorry. But _Shaun and I_ want the best for you right now, and the best for you is to sleep." William said nothing, only turning to walk to the window again, a faraway look in his eyes. Rebecca sighed.

"Alright, Connor. You ready to learn the ways of the World Wide Web?" The eagerness in the Native's eyes made Rebecca smile past her worry. They still had a long road to travel, but the trick, she found, was to take it one step at a time.

***

After a few hours, they had succeeded in getting the ancestors through the shower with no further meltdowns-- _were they Master Assassins, or children?_ Shaun wondered in spite-- their luck holding out when finding the assassins clothing. Nothing more than jeans, cargo pants, t-shirts, and hoodies, but they suited the ancestors well enough. Shaun sighed in relief when he no longer had to deal with the _stench_ they emitted. Even yet, Shaun puzzled over how to run their _blasted robes-- no whites with the colors because they've all almost made the mistake of washing their red belt with ivory white robes_ \-- through the washing machine.

When all was said and done and Shaun was through with the particularly awkward task of teaching grown men how to _shower_ , he had the chance to further their knowledge of twentieth century appliances. He and the ancestors stood in front of the kitchen counter, surrounding the coffee pot.

"Alright, now this magnificent device is a coffee machine."

_"Cafe?"_ Ezio's eyebrows lifted in recognition. The stuff Antonio and Rosa were so fond of never did suit his fancy-- no matter the taste he finally _did_ acquire after many years and a lot of perseverance.

"Yes." Shaun nodded. "Not as great as tea, mind you, but it gets its job done."

"Shaun just doesn't like coffee because he can't make a cup to save his soul." Rebecca called.

"I _have_ gotten better." Shaun sighed. "Anyhow, it's quite simple, you just put a filter in the top, put the coffee inside, pour water in, and then let it brew."

_"What do we have to do?"_ Ezio asked.

_"Nothing, for now."_

"If you lean in close enough, you can smell it as it fills the pot." Rebecca offered. Collectively, Ezio, Altair, Malik, Yusuf, and Connor looked between themselves and then leaned forward, faces inches apart as they endeavored to move closer to the miraculous machine.

_"What sorcery is this?"_ Altair whispered in a disbelieving wonderment.

"We should start a game where one of us does something whenever Altair says that." Shaun piped.

"It better be something you like, because you'll be doing it all the time." Rebecca replied.

_"Of all of the things to change over centuries, the aroma of coffee never ceases to be one of the greatest."_ Yusuf sighed as he breathed in the smell. He clapped a hand on Ezio's back, the latter managing a smirk.

_"I suppose so."_ Ezio shrugged.

_"I don't understand how someone cannot like coffee."_ Yusuf retorted.

_"It's the way you drink it, you may as well be eating the beans straight from the plant."_

_"Sounds good to me."_

_"Unbelievable."_ Yusuf scoffed.

_"Learn to enjoy new things, different things, bitter things, Brother. If everything was sweet, then what fun would anything be?"_

_"I'm friends with you, aren't I?"_

_"I'm afraid that I don't count, you see because I for one, am as sweet as the Baklava sold at the Grand Bazaar. You, on the other hand..."_ Ezio playfully hit Yusuf on the arm, the latter feigning his pain.

_"You wound me, Dela."_

"Dela?" Shaun interjected.

"Yusuf started calling Ezio that after the whole 'de la la la' incident. Remember that?" Rebecca answered. Yusuf grinned as the memory surfaced. His eyes met Shaun's.

"Ezio Auditore de la la la." Yusuf held out one hand, the other gesturing to Ezio. "Dela." He motioned to Ezio with both hands. Ezio rolled his eyes as Yusuf wrapped an arm around his shoulders, embracing him for a moment.

"So the coffee's done." Shaun turned away, pulling the coffee pot out from the machine. He placed a mug on the counter, filling it up. "And that, is how you make a cup of coffee. It's quite an important staple, what with so little time for actual sleep nowadays." Shaun's shoulders slumped as confused looks were all he got in response.

"Shaun, cool it with the lectures. They're still learning English and you're dialect is hard for _me_ to understand." Rebecca said.

"I thought that you said kitchen appliances were an important thing for them to learn?"

"I did, but just..." Rebecca waved a hand, "Without all the other stuff." Shaun huffed. He picked up the mug, offering it to Connor. Connor took it, wrapping his hands around the warm cup.

"Thank you, but..." Connor cast his gaze to his feet. "Do you by chance have any tea?" Shaun had to physically stop himself from letting his jaw drop.

"All this time and I could have shown you a drink that is actually _worth_ the time?" Connor offered noting but a shoulder shrug.

"I do enjoy coffee, as well." He added, bringing the mug to his lips, sipping at the coffee, trying to mask the twisting of his face as he tasted the bitter liquid.

The group was interrupted as there was movement from across the loft. Ruben had left Desmond's room, eyes clouded in toil. Something was troubling him, and the thought made the air freeze around them.

"Ruben." William all but darted to the man's side. Ruben took a deep breath.

"His body rejected the skin grafts." William's stomach flipped. "But, it's also fighting off any infection that his body might come in contact with." Ruben sighed. "I was wrong. His body is healing-- on its own."

"So what does that mean?" William floundered.

"It means-- that we keep his arm as clean as we can and him as comfortable as we can. I've set up an IV drip of liquids and nutrients, also set up a regimen of antibiotics, hopefully to help his body heal. I don't know what the Temple did to him, all I do know is that it's nothing I've ever seen before."

"Will he be okay?"

"I don't know, William. All we can do is wait. I've prepared this--" Ruben handed William a bag, "it has all of the medical supplies you should need."

"You're just going to leave?" William took the bag, shock written on his face.

"You're not the only Assassins in the city who need my help."

"And you're not the only doctor who can give it."

"William, there is _nothing_ else I can do. I have no idea what we're up against with this, so we're at a loss. All we can do is hope for the best at this point." William's jaw clenched, internally scrambling for purchase when he felt so utterly helpless.

"Okay." William nodded as Ruben put a hand on his shoulder.

"Good luck, Bill." Ruben left, leaving the loft silent as Shaun and Rebecca regarded William-- he stood, rooted in his spot, before taking a deep breath and turning to make his way to Desmond's room.

"We can take turns watching him." William called to the others. "We'll switch at two hour intervals, at least one person needs to be working on getting our communication channels up or working with the ancestors. Just because we're at a standstill, doesn't mean that we can afford to stop what we're doing." William started walking to Desmond's room. It felt futile to force things into motion when any essence of progress was so thoroughly stinted; William shuddered to think of what the Templars were now able to do, and it evoked the most profound fear when he thought of the fact that Juno was free. They were treading in shark infested waters, and one, if not all of them were losing blood.

***

Desmond opened his eyes. The darkness that surrounded him told him he'd woken inside a dream. The dark frightened him-- _we work in the dark, to serve the light_ \-- but he was free of pain; his body didn't ache or burn, and the ghosts inside of his head were at rest. Maybe he was finally experiencing the salvation of death. The pain and the Bleeding Effect had finally won out. He was surprised it had taken so long-- he had been more than willing to submit.

The faint rhythm of a beating heart disproved his assumptions. He _still lived_... Desmond wanted to scream. Living _hurt_ \-- and Desmond couldn't take anymore.

He fell to his knees-- the darkness he was enveloped in suddenly reminded him of the Animus loading screen, worlds being constructed around him to torture him further. _They're not even my memories. Why me?_

And now Juno was free and the Templars are out in the world and the Assassins were ever dwindling and Desmond _didn't know what to do._

"I can't do it." The statement came as a whimper, the hoarseness of his throat making itself apparent. With the sensation, other senses came progressively; the beating of his heart, the sweat on the back of his neck, the shallow breaths that came with shock began to weigh him down. Eventually, the resonant searing in his arm began to lance through the limb, the skin before Desmond's eyes starting to blacken. All he could do was watch in horror, the degeneration unstoppable. The irony was daunting. Was destruction of _anything_ stoppable?

As the pain intensified, silhouettes appeared in Desmond's peripheral vision, all so familiar, yet all nothing more than ambiguous forms, creating shadows of black-- they spoke, as if facets of the Bleeding Effect.

_Too many voices inside your head. You're going crazy, Desmond. All you are is but a number._ Subject 17-- _Shut up, Desmond, you're a failure, a disgrace-- No better than the fucking Templars._

_I'm sick of being a god damned pawn._ His own voice rang in his head as the darkness around him lightened, and the silhouettes became concrete forms of the room around him-- his eyelids fluttered open.

"Desmond." William almost allowed himself a sigh of relief. Desmond's eyes met his for a moment, before wincing as he tried to move his head. His eyes still distant, he looked to his bandaged arm. He took in a quick breath, the pain registering even as his mind trudged through the lethargy of waking from a drug-induced sleep. Desmond's brow furrowed, confusion written on his face. William could see the gears turning as he watched his son take in what he saw.

"It's healing, on its own." William said. Desmond's eyes widened. "We don't have to amputate it, as far as we know. It's a bullshit explanation, but it's all we've got." Even William noticed how tired his voice sounded.

"The Temple... why..." The words came out as a whisper. William found himself on the verge of tears. "Dad."

"I don't know, Desmond." William cursed the quiver in his voice. "I don't know."

"It hurts." "I can't give you anything more for it, I'm sorry."

"Not just my arm." Desmond took in a pained breath. "Everything." _Life, war, love, death._ What could fix it? Were human beings really so resilient? Every limb felt leaden, and yet _he_ still endured.

The pained look in his father's eyes was even worse than his scrutiny.

_There are more important things to battle, Dad. Stop worrying about me and fight what I couldn't._ Even as the Chosen One he wasn't able to live up to par.

William swallowed his emotions-- as he'd always done, he hated himself for it-- and took Desmond's hand in his.

"We'll get through this, son. I promise you that." He didn't offer 'it'll be okay' or ' _you'll_ be okay', and the realization that William couldn't honestly say either of those things threatened to crush him.

***

Desmond lived in the purgatorial land between waking and unconsciousness, all of it purged by a constant, throbbing pain. With so little energy as to not even be able to lift his head, it felt a torturous prison. Between periods of sleep, Desmond saw the others beside him-- His father, Shaun, Rebecca-- very few words were exchanged. They were all so solemn, as if in mourning; it made him wonder if he shouldn't be, too.

Outside of his friends who took places by his side, he noticed very little. He juggled his dulled awareness between the pain of waking and the eternal loop of helplessness that chained him inside of his own head. _Juno was free. A world enslaved. This never ending war between Templars and Assassins_. Sometimes, when he was awake, he'd involuntarily switch to Eagle Vision, the cool blue of the room around him calming, if not for the golden hues that emitted from the other room. They felt so familiar, a tug in his chest that both terrified him and assured him. _Hallucinations. They had to be. The Bleeding Effect._

He had no idea how much time had passed, only judging time by who was at his side and whenever William came to change the IV drip or give more of the painkillers that dulled his pain at best.

It was maddening.

Desmond looked to his left, Shaun sitting beside him. The normally fit-and-finished man was slumped in his chair, half-lidded eyes fluttering in an attempt to stay awake. Through his own struggle, Desmond felt a wave of sympathy wash over him.

The call was so soft, he didn't hear it the first time Desmond spoke.

"Shaun. Shaun." He jolted awake from a doze, sitting up in the chair set next to Desmond's bedside. Rubbing his eyes and taking a quick, deep breath in, Shaun responded.

"Yep? What is it, mate?"

"You don't have to stay here with me. Go sleep."

"We're taking shifts. I'll go do whatever business I need to when Rebecca comes for her time with you."

"You stay here more than the others, though." Shaun tried to smile through his despair. Desmond's arm was healing, his body miraculously repairing itself past the ability of any mortal being-- and yet it felt as though _nothing was happening._ Day after day, Desmond lay there, hardly able to move. He hardly spoke, either in the deepest throes of sleep or listlessly staring into whatever his mind provided him with. _What pieces has he to pick up and put back together now?_ The former bartender had faced and braved more than any of them ever would, and yet he was the one who wanted it the least. Shaun had never pegged Desmond as a fighter, not in the profound sense that they had seen him be.

"Just doing my part, Des." Desmond didn't reply. Instead, a long, drawn out silence stretched in moments that felt like years. Shaun had drifted into his own internal monologue by the time Desmond spoke again.

"There were seventeen of us, Shaun."

"I don't catch your meaning."

"I was abstergo's 'Subject 17'... And Clay died... that means that sixteen _people_ had to die before me."

"It's a war, Desmond. Inherently there are to be casualties."

"We can't just _do_ that." Desmond's voice cracked. Eyes bleary and faraway, Shaun had to clear his throat and take a tight breath to keep his composure. No wonder William could hardly handle this. Shaun took another deep breath.

"Do what, Desmond?"

"Write them off as _subjects_ , as _casualties_ , they died and they were _people_ , with lives and families and stories of their own that didn't get to be finished because Abstergo needed so much to finish theirs." Shaun sighed.

"Wait, just... take a deep breath, mate." Shaun offered a hand to place on Desmond's unscathed arm. He rubbed a thumb over the inked skin-- so static a thing for a body and soul that could hardly be recognized, in some light. Desmond turned his head away, the blear in his eyes turning to tears that fell down his cheeks.

"What gives anyone the right to take a life?" Shaun could equate Desmond's fervent argument to the side effect of the painkillers they were giving him, but there was such a conviction in Desmond's voice that Shaun considered him.

"Nothing. It's wrong and it's cruel and it's just how things work out, sometimes. It's been happening since the dawn of time."

"It needs to stop."

"Not much we can do now, is there? Once you heal..." A sudden cacophony of shouts and _crashes_ from another room shocked both Shaun and Desmond into attention.

"What the _devil_..." Shaun bolted to his feet, trying to mask his fear with annoyance. He opened the door tentatively, however only when it was fully ajar did he fully register the threat.

A man clad in black, about an entire head taller than him stood before Shaun. Shaun could feel his heart stop as his eyes leveled with the faint emblem that was embroidered on the man's jacket. _Abstergo. Templars._ Shaun hardly had the chance to defend himself before the man grabbed him and threw him across the hallway, stunning him to immobility.

Desmond's eyes widened, clumsily throwing blankets off of himself-- he shakily pulled himself to sit up and threw his legs over the side of the bed farthest from the door. In a rush of adrenalin, he pushed himself to his feet, managing a few steps before abruptly collapsing, only barely being able to twist and avoid falling on his burnt arm. Still, the fall was jarring enough to send a spike of through it that resonated through his chest. Crying out and shaking with the exertion, Desmond looked up at the Templar looming over him. It vaguely reminded him of hiding behind an Animus when Daniel Cross had a gun pointed at his head. _The Animus created me, the Animus destroyed me._ He was utterly helpless, all he could do was stare up at the man who now held Desmond's fate in his hands.

***

Yusuf took note of the two large-- _Templars, the others had said_  --in front of him, one shrugging off the weight of the assassin's against the others and moving toward the room where Desmond rest. The others were adamantly fighting, preoccupied by the rest of the Templar force. These men were nothing like the Byzantine soldiers he'd combated in Istanbul-- elaborate helms and robes and armor replaced with black. Far less elegant; although, they never really had been in the first place.

William had expressed specific orders for them to stay away from Desmond's room, lest his condition deteriorate, but in that moment he couldn't be helped any other way.

The Templar made it to the door down the hallway, and it was when Yusuf saw him _throw_ Shaun out of the way that he acted. Facing the Templar in front of him, Yusuf smirked, taking off at a sprint toward his opponent. The Templar wielded a knife, but before they were able to use it, Yusuf engaged the hookblade and used his momentum to flip over their back; they were surprised enough so that Yusuf could utilize the head start it gave him.

He took off down the hall, tearing around the corner of the doorframe and into Desmond's room. Yusuf slid as he turned the corner, utilizing half a second to regain his center of balance and the other half to engage the enemy before him.

The Templar was tall-- enough to surpass even Connor in height and brawn. Desmond lay on the floor-- at least, Yusuf _supposed_ it was Desmond, he hadn't actually ever seen the man-- as the Templar raised his weapon. Yusuf couldn't take him down in a tackle, and anything that would constitute a more dexterous attack would take up too much time.

Yusuf ducked, pulling himself into a roll underneath the Templar's feet. Yusuf rolled into a crouch, facing the enemy as he scrambled to regain his feet; the latter was thoroughly taken off guard. Yusuf took pride in it for a moment before rising into a defensive stance and engaging his hidden blades. He locked eyes with Desmond for a moment, the latter's narrowing in confusion before widening in...realization, was it?

The Templar growled as he faced Yusuf, pointing his weapon now at his attacker.

Yusuf was quick to react, jumping forward and grabbing the Templar's wrist, bending it back so that he dropped the gun. The Templar forced his other hand to the center of Yusuf's chest, knocking the wind out of him in an attempt to overtake him. Yusuf's muscle memory kicked in, catching the arm the Templar brought down in Yusuf's moment of inability to fight back.

He brought a fist to the Templar's stomach, thoroughly surprised when he hit solid armor instead of flesh. It didn't _look_ like the Templar had any armor on.

Yusuf recoiled and the Templar lunged again.

_"A challenge."_ Yusuf mused.

The Master Assassin had the advantage of speed, but eventually, it seemed that size won out. The Templar had Yusuf by the shoulders, the Assassin all but stumbling as the Templar pushed him against the wall. Yusuf cursed in Turkish, spitting in the man's face. The Templar growled, aiming for a swing at the side of Yusuf's head. The latter used the opening to duck out of the way. He was about to turn to attack the Templar from behind when a desperate kick happened to land-- with a sickening _crack_ \-- to one of Yusuf's knees. The pain was sudden and unexpected; Yusuf cried out and fell to the ground, hands clenched into fists.

The Templar gloated as he stood, hovering over Yusuf with a smug sneer on his face.

"Well aren't you an interesting fellow." The Templar leaned closer to Yusuf. Putting the pain in his leg aside, Yusuf grinned in spite, using his uninjured leg to pull the Templar to the ground with him. Before he could have time to react, Yusuf engaged his hidden blade and pulled himself over the Templar, stabbing through flesh in one quick motion. The hands that had come up to try to pry Yusuf off of the man fell to the ground, covering the sickening _shick_ of the hidden blade sliding back into place, covered in the Templar's blood.

_"Rest in Peace."_ Yusuf managed to grit out, before rolling to his back, bracing himself for the pain of jostling his knee. Ezio and William came running in seconds later, followed by the others. Shaun unsteadily climbed to his feet in the hallway and scrambling into the room, closed and locked the door behind him.

"Who were they?" Connor questioned between heavy breaths.

"Abstergo. The Templars." Rebecca responded.

_"Yusuf."_ Ezio called, coming to his friend's side. _"Are you alright? What happened?"_ Despite his clenched jaw, Yusuf waved Ezio off, endeavoring to sit up. Ezio put a hand behind his back to help him, Yusuf quelling hisses of pain in the process.

_"He got me in the knee is all."_ Yusuf managed a rueful chuckle, before his expression darkened. William had made it to Desmond's side, cradling his son's shoulders in his arms.

Rebecca winced as she saw the saddening, familiar glint of gold that flashed in Desmond's eyes. _No one has ever come up with a cure for the Bleeding Effect._ Something so powerful, unlocked from the confines of the genetic code was something near impossible to harness.

It was no wonder that it destroyed people. However, where Daniel Cross and Clay had reacted with anger and fear, lashing at the threat and in turn letting it consume them, Desmond had grown to react with calm. Not at first-- when the hallucinations and identity slips had first set in, he had done nothing short of panicked, as anyone would. In a few short months, the visions would come and go, and _sometimes_ they wouldn't even realize it.

Now, however as Desmond's walls of security and control were stripped away from him, his resolve faltered. Frantic, desperate eyes darted from place to place around the room, whimpers and cries of _"no"_ filling the air as Desmond tried to back away from his ancestors. They were more than just ghosts in his head now. William could do nothing but hold him in place and spill the truth in desperate pleas to keep the panic at bay.

"Desmond, it's okay, they're actually here. Your ancestors, they traveled across time when you activated whatever was inside the Temple. You're not hallucinating. They're all here." Tears had started to form in Desmond's eyes-- from the pain of his arm or his resulting panic, William couldn't say.

"Desmond, look at me." William put a hand behind Desmond's head, urging his son's gaze toward him. "You're fine, you're going to be fine, I promise you that." William ignored the desperation in his voice. His chest felt constricted as thickly accented Arabic rolled off of Desmond's tongue. Desperation turned to anger in Desmond's movement, the weight of pain still hindering him. _No._ William despaired. The others backed away, unsure of what to do.

_"What is happening?"_ Altair questioned, torn between doing something and keeping his place.

_"He's hallucinating. He thinks he's you."_ Rebecca moved with Shaun toward William and Desmond, kneeling opposite to William. Malik spoke up, directing his statement to the man in William's arms. Desmond froze, his eyes leveling with Malik's. They exchanged heated words, the gold reflected in Desmond's eyes growing until it finally flickered and left-- weary brown taking its place. Desmond calmed, his body relaxing into the more concrete environment of the world around him.

"What did you do?" William looked to Malik in awe. Malik looked to Rebecca, saying something to her before shifting on his feet and moving to Altair's side.

"He said that Altair had a similar problem when he first started using the Apple. The only way to calm him down was to play along with whatever he was seeing-- whether it be real or not." Rebecca explained. William sighed.

"Dad?" Desmond's voice was small, tired. "What happened? Why..."

"We've been compromised. Abstergo knows where we are and they attacked." The statement was partly in explanation, however William looked to Shaun and Rebecca. _What could they possibly do now?_

"We have to re-locate." Connor suggested.

"And where would we go? Abstergo's undoubtedly been monitoring the security systems of the city, which in a place like New York means that they have every street covered." Shaun countered.

"We can't stay here if the Templars know where we are. There has to be _somewhere_ we can go." Rebecca said.

"I remember seeing an old cabin in the woods-- a few miles out from the Temple. It would be secluded and faraway from the Templar's eyes." Shaun said.

"Would something so close to the Temple be safe? What if someone _lives_ there?" Rebecca asked.

"It's better than staying inside the city, where everything we do could be monitored and inevitably be seen."

"How would we move all of our equipment? Besides, the van is ages away and probably stripped by now." Shaun ran a hand through his hair, sighing in exasperation. Their options were _extremely_ limited.

"We don't know for sure about the van. Rebecca, did you happen to get any of our hacking or jamming frequencies online?"

"I have, but they won't be able to take out an entire city's worth of security cameras. Even so, Templar agents must be stalking the streets. We can't make a break for it."

"As a group, no. But if one or two of us goes to get the van, our movements would be less track-able."

"What happens when-- _if_ you get the van here? We speed out of the city in hopes of no one following us?" William added.

"I don't see any other option, here, Bill."

"Shaun is right." Connor spoke up. "We cannot sit here and wait for the Templars to attack again. Once they have realized the group they sent in has been neutralized, they will come again, with greater force." William sighed, the incredulous looks the others gave Shaun was all he needed.

"I'll go." Rebecca spoke, rising to her feet.

"Actually, I was thinking that I could..." Shaun started.

"I'll set up a COM link that you can utilize to track my movements."

"Rebecca..."

"I've been studying schematics of the city for days, now. I'll know the fastest routes out of the city."

"I will accompany you." Connor moved forward, offering his help. Rebecca nodded.

"Let's go, then. We don't have much time." William ordered. He wrapped Desmond's uninjured arm around his shoulders and stood, wincing as Desmond let out a cry of pain. William eased him back onto the bed, casting a worried glance over to Ezio and Yusuf.

"Can he walk?" William nodded to Yusuf. Rebecca passed the question along, Ezio and Yusuf moving to react. Ezio helped Yusuf to his feet, the other gingerly leaning on his hurt knee. Yusuf cursed and grabbed Ezio's shoulders for support, answering William's question.

_Now they had_ two _injured assassins and Templars honing on their location._

"Shaun, help Ezio and Yusuf. Rebecca, I want you and Connor ready to go as soon as possible." Rebecca nodded, Shaun moved to Yusuf's other side to support him. William took a deep breath. They had such a fleeting chance-- but they'd have to take it and have faith it would work. William realized the irony in the notion; they were taking a Leap of Faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been FAR too long since I've updated this, and again, I offer my most sincere apologies. I have about five weeks of school until the Summer after this week is over, so I might have another lengthy gap in between updates. That, and I'm a slow-poke, so.
> 
> On that note, thank you all SO MUCH who have been reading, commenting, and supporting this fic! It means so much to me, and I endlessly appreciate the patience you all have.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, don't hesitate to comment and review!


	5. The Twists and Turns of Pursuit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter is finally up! Thank you all SO much for your patience with me, I hope you enjoy this addition!
> 
> In other news, I made a playlist for this fic, and you can listen to it at : http://8tracks.com/mix_sets/dj:6270487  
> As a comprehensive playlist for the entire fic, it's probably going to grow as I keep writing, so I'll keep you all updated on that. I hope you like it!

"We've lost contact with our field team, sir-- they're assumed neutralized." Static obscured the words that came over Warren Vidic's speakerphone, yet the message resonated _too_ clearly in his head. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. He pressed the _transmit_ button on the speaker.

"Any news between the agents stationed across the city?"

"I haven't received word from any of them." Warren grit his teeth.

"Keep your channels open. I want answers as soon as they come up."

"I'll be at the ready."

"Oh, and Meyers?"

"Yes, sir?"

"If anything, find the assassins. I want all of them-- Ibn La'ahad, Auditore, Kenway..." Warren paused, eyes flicking up and across his desk to the man sitting opposite him, "every assassin who isn't supposed to be in this century."

"What about..."

"Miles." The name grated off of Vidic's tongue as acid. "I want Miles _in front of me_ \-- alive, so I can kill him myself." Warren's inadvertent rage toward the man grew with every passing breath. He couldn't deny Subject 17's inherent _worth,_ no matter how backwards it seemed. Getting Miles, and keeping him _alive_ could mean leaps and bounds the Templars hadn't experienced since the birth of Animus technology. Still, the satisfaction of ending such a-- Vidic rued the connotation-- _remarkable_ person after said person had the audacity to infiltrate Abstergo headquarters and kill Daniel Cross, kill _Vidic himself_ , and run off to 'save the world' with the dying breed the Assassins were was all Warren could ever ask for.

_Compromise._ The word rang bitterly through Warren's head. After a sigh, he looked up to face the man sitting across from him.

"So, tell me, what brings _Haytham Kenway_ to New York in the 21st century?"

***

Connor strapped on his hidden blade bracer, pulling the sleeve of his jacket over it, as Rebecca bid. They had prepared to leave in not more than twenty minutes. Connor shifted in anticipation. Rebecca spoke to Shaun, going over their protocol for what seemed the tenth time.

"I've got it, Rebecca." Rebecca's mouth tightened into a thin line, pointing to an icon on the computer screen.

"If ever things get hairy, click this. It'll sever all ties between our systems and Abstergo's. If you lose contact with Connor and I for more than fifteen minutes, pack up and--"

"I know."

"I just need to know that you can do this."

"Like I've said a thousand times in the past minute-- I can." Shaun turned in his chair, looking up to Rebecca. The latter closed her eyes, finally nodding.

Connor anxiously glanced to his bow and tomahawk that lay on the counter across the room. His gaze traded between his weapons and the blades on his wrists. He'd never had so few weapons with him during a mission; the lack of weaponry and his robes weighing down on his body set him on edge.

"Are you sure that it is wise to go in to potentially enemy-filled territory with so few weapons?" Connor spoke up. Rebecca turned to face him, sympathetic eyes meeting his.

"I don't like it, either. If we were armed to the teeth-- no matter how comforting that would be-- we'd draw unwanted attention to ourselves." Connor nodded, folding his hands together in anticipation.

_"Ezio, I've told you, for the hundredth time, I'm alright."_ Yusuf's voice was strained, both from the pain radiating from his knee and the frustration of Ezio's relentless questioning.

_"You are certain? He didn't get you anywhere else, no grazes from a blade, nothing?"_

_"I think I'd feel it, and you'd know it if it were so."_ Yusuf's fervent eyes met Ezio's. The toil in the Italian's made Yusuf's scowl soften. _"There are more important matters at hand, Ezio."_ Yusuf whispered. Ezio shook his head.

_"There is nothing else I would be of help for."_ Rebecca came up behind the mentor.

_"Be ready to move at any moment, guys."_ She put a reassuring hand on Ezio's shoulder. Yusuf bit back a curse as he tried to shift where he was sitting.

_"Is there anything you can do for him?"_   Ezio questioned. Rebecca was about to turn away when she stopped, worriedly biting her lip before speaking.

_"Ice."_

_"What?"_ Yusuf questioned.

_"It's... wait here."_ Rebecca ran to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets and drawers before filling a bag with ice and coming back to where Ezio and Yusuf sat.

_"It'll help reduce the swelling. It'll be uncomfortably cold, but you'll thank me later."_ Rebecca inched forward, gesturing for Yusuf to lift his injured leg as best he could. He bit his tongue and clenched a fist as the movement released a new torrent of pain, but bore it as Rebecca wrapped the homemade ice pack around his knee and taped it into place. Yusuf shuddered as the cold permeated his clothing.

_"After about fifteen minutes, take it off for ten minutes and continue the cycle. It'll help, I promise."_ Yusuf nodded in thanks.

_"Thank you, Rebecca."_ Ezio said as she made her way toward Connor. Rebecca allowed herself a nervous smile.

_"Anything I can do to please."_

"Are you ready to go?" Connor asked as Rebecca approached. She nodded, checking her own blades and the pistol at her waist before turning to Shaun.

"Do you have the override to the nearest street cameras ready, Hastings?"

"My finger's hovering over the big red button." Shaun sighed into the statement. Whether the sarcasm was from his normal haughtiness or nervousness, Connor couldn't determine. Rebecca put the COM speaker in her ear, nodding.

"Let's go." She beckoned Connor to follow. With bated breath and a silent plea for victory, they made their way out of the loft.

Rebecca didn't seem to breathe until the elevator doors had closed and they started their descent to the ground floor.

"The odds aren't good that we succeed in this, Connor."

"I have thought about it, too. I think our success depends on how many of the Templars we face." Rebecca grimaced.

"Based on the team they sent to take us out, I'd say there are plenty more to fill their places."

"I am sure that you are an apt fighter. It is better to fight than do nothing at all." Rebecca took a deep breath.

"It's our only option, isn't it?"

"As it usually is." Rebecca nodded, letting out her breath as the elevator doors opened.

"Mind you, I can hear all that you're saying over this channel; Your optimism is very much appreciated, Rebecca." Shaun's voice sounded in Rebecca's ear.

"I'm opting for realism, here, Shaun. Keep your eyes and ears open, we're on the ground floor."

The building was silent-- few lights illuminated the hallway before them, setting the two assassins on edge. Rebecca took hold of her pistol, holding it out in front of her and cautiously making her way ahead. Connor engaged his hidden blades, taking one in his hand while the other remained extended. His eyes narrowed as his Eagle Vision set in.

"There is no one here." Connor whispered. Rebecca offered a curt nod, gesturing for Connor to come forward.

"Stay sharp." Once the elevator doors had closed behind them, Connor couldn't help but feel that they were trapped. There was no going back.

The two came to the back door that led to the alley. Rebecca leaned against one side of the frame of the door, and motioned for Connor to do the same on the opposite side.

"On three." Rebecca said. Connor shifted uncomfortably on his feet. The weapon in Rebecca's hands looked so foreign to him-- and the Templars no doubt had even more power at their fingertips. Not knowing what was out on the streets of a city-- once so familiar-- unrecognizable _scared_ him. He grit his teeth and tightened his grip on his blade, planting his feet and readying himself to charge. Upon eye contact with Rebecca, he'd let his developed instinct take over.

"One..." He wondered if the being that spoke from the artifact knew of the world he'd been thrust into. She must have-- the Sanctuary was protected so that Desmond Miles could save the world. Connor shuddered at the weight of such a bidding.

"Two..." If they could be thrust into the future, what did that say of those in the past? The world before him was malleable; both time and space were of no boundaries. The thought was daunting at least. _If assassins were brought through time, what of the Templars?_

"Three!" Connor turned the knob on the door, throwing it open as Rebecca ran outside. Connor followed close behind, the two of them defending each other's backs and scanning the area. When nothing but the sound of the city and the darkness of a newly set twilight met them, they let out a strained breath of relief. They ducked behind a dumpster, Rebecca accessing her COM link.

"The alleyway's clear, Shaun."

"Well, it's good to know that we won't be ambushed for at least a few more seconds." Rebecca rolled her eyes.

"Get ready with that override."

"Where are we going?" Connor interjected.

"Back the way we came. We'll blend with the crowds for two blocks, and then take to the sewers."

"Rebecca..." Shaun called over the COM.

"What is it?"

"I'm detecting a hacker in our system. We're going to have to go dark if we don't want this mission to be compromised. I'll activate the override and then you'll be on your own."

"How will you know when we finish?"

"Text me."

"Shaun..."

"They've already found us. A two word message over phone signals won't do any more damage. Go, Rebecca. Godspeed to you and Connor." Shaun's connection cut out.

"What is going on?" Connor inched closer to Rebecca.

"Our systems have been compromised. We're axing the connection-- which means that you and I are on our own." Rebecca stood.

"How long do we have before..."

"I don't know. We'd better get moving. Hoods up, eyes and ears sharp. Follow my lead-- just keep your head down and stay with as many people as possible." Connor disengaged his hidden blades, standing and following Rebecca.

The crowds were probably what astounded Connor the most. If the New York he knew was full, this city was overflowing with life. The bright, unnatural lights and the ground that wasn't actually made of earth beneath his feet made him feel alienated. Rebecca had said to keep his head down, however it was difficult-- as everything caught his eye, his inner curiosity combated their dire situation.

Connor kept his eyes locked on his feet as he and Rebecca cleared the first block. As they crossed the street, a familiar glint caught Connor's attention. He reached forward and grabbed Rebecca's shoulder, pulling her to walk beside him.

"The man at the other end of the intersection is a Templar." Rebecca's blood ran cold. She spotted the Templar immediately, the silver Abstergo emblem on his jacket standing out in stark contrast with even the neon street lights.

"Maybe he hasn't seen us, yet. We can still sneak by him."

"There is too much at stake to take that chance. Fall behind, I will distract him."

"Connor, I'm not going to..."

"If they find us, more importantly, you-- they will find the location of our hideout and the others. Desmond's life depends on this mission succeeding." _I will not fail again if I have the power to stop it._

"Lead him into the nearest alley, I'll meet you there." Rebecca said. Connor was about to protest, but their time was cut short-- they reached the end of the intersection. Rebecca slowed her pace to fall behind. Connor let out a short, forced breath through his nose before looking up.

The Templar scanned the crowd as they passed. Connor made eye contact, the split second was all the Templar needed to identify his target. Maintaining the air of normalcy for the general public was an accessory to his primary objective, but from the look of him, the Assassin was _goading_ him to attack. The Assassin walked past him after their eyes locked, shoulder-shoving him aside. The Assassin looked back.

"My mistake, sir." He turned to his right, heading down a side street. As soon as the Assassin was out of earshot, he activated his COM radio, never taking eyes off of his target.

"I've got one, headed down 15th."

"Is it Miles?"

"No. The Native American one, I think. Had the bearings of a Kenway."

"Get him."

"I can take him out _right now,_ boss."

"Your orders were specific, Montgomery-- The Assassins are to be taken alive. We'll never be able to tell what the _hell_ is going on until we get some answers. Who better to tell us that than the Precursor's puppets themselves?" A hint of envy dripped from his tone. "Stay at your post, let Anders take care of him."

"Fine." Rebecca's heart stopped--passing the Templar as he ended his communication. _They were everywhere._ Connor was going to run into a lot more than he could handle at once. Rebecca engaged her wrist blade as she walked by the Templar, turning and using her forward motion to move it through a seam in his protective armor and into flesh. Rebecca grimaced. It had been so long since she'd taken a life-- and yet the adrenalin of the task at hand let her feel little remorse. She knew that it would come later.

Connor ducked into an alley a half a block ahead of her. _Dammit._ Rebecca quickened her pace, just short of jogging as she fought to catch up with Connor through the persistent crowd. A cry sounded behind her as the Templar fell, the noise provocation for her to duck her head, her face further obscured by the shadows of her hood. She shoved her hands in her pockets, blood already staining her fingers. She'd wanted _so much_ to slip by unnoticed-- it seemed even that was too much to hope for. Rebecca grit her teeth as she came around the corner to the alley.

Connor stood with his hands raised, an Abstergo agent holding a knife to his neck.

"One more step forward, Assassin, and your friend dies." Rebecca instinctively put her hands up, looking back to the street and stepping further into the shadows. The Templar backed up, pulling Connor with him. _The man was half a head shorter than Connor, why wasn't he fighting back?_

"Take it easy. We don't want to cause any harm." Rebecca glanced to the fire escapes above. Something shifted above them. _Marksman._ Undoubtedly there would be more of them nearby.

"We won't, either. Just give us Subject 17, and we'll be on our way."

"Desmond is dead." Rebecca's jaw clenched, her face hardening. Connor grunted as the Templar tightened his grip.

"We saw the security footage. You have Miles-- and a few extra friends." The Templar looked to Connor. "Now tell me, Assassins. How is it that you manage to save the world, unleash the Precursors power, _and_ bring five assassins from different _centuries_ to the present day?" Rebecca met Connor's eyes. Despite their situation, his were cold with indifference. His eyes flicked to the sharpshooter above them, the slightest nod visible as Rebecca realized his plan. Her brow furrowed for a second, before he looked down-- Rebecca followed his eyes.

_The tomahawk._ Past the edges of Connor's jacket, Rebecca could see the blade strapped to his waist. Rebecca grimaced.

"I don't see what you accomplish by taking us out." Rebecca kept speaking. "You've already attacked our hideout-- what more have you to gain?" The Templar laughed.

"The Assassins always run. They've spent centuries fighting in a corner, so they've perfected the art. It's when they're on the _move,_ that they're vulnerable."

" _Now,_ Rebecca!" Connor shouted. Without thinking, Rebecca pulled the gun from her waist and fired at the sniper. At the same moment, Connor threw one of his feet and an elbow back, catching his captor in surprise and using his confusion to twist, grabbing his tomahawk and bringing it to arc in one smooth motion to take the Templar out. He ducked, the sound of gunfire now filling the alleyway.

Rebecca ducked as the sniper returned fire, running to the opposite wall of the alley, taking a second to aim and fire-- a bullet finally hitting its mark. Connor joined her as the sniper was silenced.

"Are you okay?" Rebecca asked. Connor nodded.

"And yourself?"

"I'm fine. We need to go, _now._ " There was no point in trying to maintain secrecy. Connor nodded, returning his tomahawk to his waist and following Rebecca as she ran through the alley to the block ahead of them.

They pushed through the crowd, earning frustrated, angered cries as they shoved people aside. Rebecca glanced back, pushing harder as she noticed two Abstergo agents on their tail.

"We've got two of them on us, Connor." Connor glanced back.

"How much farther have we to go?"

"The manhole is around the corner, in the alley."

"If we can make it there, we can fight them, perhaps even evade them." The determination in Connor's eyes urged Rebecca forward. They came around the corner and ducked into the alley.

"Connor, cover me while I get this open." Rebecca knelt next to the manhole cover, adrenalin coursing through her system. She willed her hands to steadiness as she began prying the cover open.

The two Templars who'd been following them came around the corner, surprised when Connor lunged at one, tomahawk in hand. Rebecca looked up, wrenching the manhole cover aside.

"Connor, get down!" Connor glanced back, ducking into a crouch as Rebecca branded her pistol, shooting the two Templars-- the hollow _click_ of an emptied weapon sounded as the last one fell. Connor shifted toward the sewer opening. Rebecca replaced her ammo and pocketed her weapon, following Connor as he descended into the sewers.

The reverberating echo and constant rushing noise that filled the sewers was disorienting, and set both Connor and Rebecca on edge.

"What should we do?" Rebecca looked down the sewer passages in front of them. If Templar agents had patrolled the streets, what could be said about underground? If their movements were being tracked, Abstergo would have known that they were utilizing the sewers. Could they afford the cautious movement, or would it be better to make a run for it? Rebecca took a deep breath, pulling out her gun, cocking it and holding it in front of her.

"We run."

"What if they are down here?"

"We'll have to take that chance. Every second we spend out here is another that the others can be ambushed again." The urgency in Rebecca's tone diminished any of Connor's doubt.

Rebecca turned, making her way down one of the sewer's tunnels at a jog. Connor followed, attention being drawn to every movement and sound. He settled for following Rebecca as she led him, relying on his Eagle Sense to alert him of any danger. Even yet, it did not calm him.

With every turn they made, Rebecca could only hope that she was leading them in the right direction. She had reviewed the sewer maps she had projected from their first trek through the underground and the general layout of the city streets until they ran like clockwork through her head; adrenalin and the pressing need to _win_ this conflict made her stutter. The thought of Abstergo finding and keeping them-- namely the ancestors and _Desmond_ \-- hostage scared her more than anything ever had. It was one thing to survive a journey to Hell and back, but to endure what Abstergo had hidden away was something that she couldn't bear to have happen to anyone.

By some stroke of luck, Rebecca and Connor made it through the sewers and to the van.

"Thank _god._ " Rebecca sighed in relief. She circled the vehicle, checking the tires, underneath it, the locks-- everything seemed to be how they left it. She pulled her electronic scanner out of her pocket, running a cautionary sweep of the van as she walked around it.

"It looks like we're set to go. We just need to..."

"Rebecca." Connor cut her off, eyes locked over her shoulder. _Dammit._

"What are you two doing out here?" Rebecca turned, almost relieved when it wasn't an Abstergo agent, but what appeared to be a common street thug. You know you're an assassin when...

"Just heading out, actually." Rebecca covered her scanner and put it back in her pocket.

"Is this your van?" The man moved closer, yet Rebecca refused to yield.

"What's it to you?" Rebecca crossed her arms, impatience taking over her fear.

"Me and a buddy of mine have been scoping it out for the past few days-- we could really use a break like this. And I don't think they, or I, for that matter, want to have that chance taken away." In a flash, the man pulled out a knife, wielding it in a defensive stance. Rebecca put her hands up, backing up a few steps.

"Hey, take it easy, man." They were wasting _time,_ and the fact that the person in front of her was just _some person_ , not a person who was also a Templar or a person who had connections to other worldly advanced civilizations put her at a loss. If Rebecca felt remorse for killing, it would be too much to ask of her to fight back against the man in front of her.

She could disarm him, though that would risk taking damage from the blade-- for either her or Connor. They didn't know how well the ancestor's bodies were adapted to the 21st century-- a cut or being exposed to anything directly could mean terrible things. Her consideration and their crunch for time led Rebecca to her decision.

_I'm so sorry._ Rebecca pulled the pistol from where it rest on her waist and fired, the bullet hitting the man's foot. He fell with a curse and a desperate cry of pain, dropping his knife in the process. Rebecca kicked it away, kneeling and knocking the man unconscious.

She checked the man's clothing for any other weapons or surveillance devices-- there was no such thing as being too careful. She turned to stand, eyes widening as a figure appeared behind Connor.

"Connor, behind you!" Connor turned, just in time to stop his attacker from cutting him. Connor caught one of his attacker's hands, however their proximity allowed them to bring an elbow to his face.

In his surprise, Connor released his grip on his attacker's arm, staggering back with his hand over his face, trying to squint past the stars that erupted across his vision. Rebecca stood, darting to defend Connor, her weapon raised. The attacker put their hands up.

"Drop it." The person who had engaged them had a slighter frame than Rebecca, standing inches shorter than her as well.

"We just need a ride." Their voice was feminine and tentative-- Rebecca realized that a hood and a scarf obscured their face. _Takes one to know one..._ The woman dropped her knife, backing up as Rebecca advanced.

"Who are you two?" She pulled their attacker's hood down and pulled off the scarf, pinning her to the nearby wall. A shock of neon pink hair was revealed underneath.

"We're just two street kids who need a hand." If they were undercover Abstergo agents _so help her god..._ The woman's voice was tentative, however such inflections could easily be acted. Rebecca's eyes narrowed.

"How do I know you're not lying?" Rebecca pressed her arm harder against the woman's shoulders. She shrugged off the remorse as she felt the woman _tremble._

"Look, just...just let us go, we won't bother you again, I promise. Please." Rebecca's glare softened as she looked over the woman's face. Such blatant fear couldn't be simulated. Rebecca huffed, releasing her hold and letting the pink-haired woman go.

"Brent." The woman ran to their other attacker, who still lay unconscious. Rebecca was reluctant to take her eyes off of them. She turned to walk over to Connor. The latter was crouched by the side of the van, using one hand to support himself against it and another to cover the pulsing throb that lanced across his face.

"Are you okay, Connor?" Rebecca knelt beside him. Connor pulled his hand away from his face, blinking rapidly. "Let me see." Rebecca put a hand under Connor's chin, beckoning him to turn his head. He complied, wincing as Rebecca gently touched the already bruising skin.

"Do you feel lightheaded, dizzy, did she break any skin?"

"No." A drop of blood fell from Connor's nose. He immediately put his arm up to staunch it, grunting as he displaced already damaged cartilage. The swelling that already started indicated a probable broken nose.

"Can you stand? We need to go." Rebecca grabbed one of Connor's hands, helping him to his feet as she stood. She opened the passenger door, guiding Connor inside, before walking around to the driver side door. With one last look to the distraught woman, who knelt next to her partner, Rebecca grimaced, starting up the van. She glanced to Connor.

"Try tilting your head back-- you'll probably swallow some blood, but it will stop you from bleeding everywhere." Connor's eyes met hers, a slightly horrified look on his face. He still complied, nodding. _How could someone so small knock_ Connor _off of his feet?_ Rebecca shook the question from her head, putting the van into reverse, eventually pulling on to the road that led into the city.

Luckily, Connor's nose stopped bleeding before they arrived back at their hideout, yet the relative calm of their journey-- _no one follwing us_ \-- put Rebecca on edge. She pulled into the alleyway next to the apartment building they were staked out in, quickly pulling out her phone and sending a text to Shaun.

_We're here._

***

William sat at Desmond's bedside, one hand intertwined with Desmond's uninjured. His son had slipped into a fitful half-wakefulness, yet even the muted, pained cries that Desmond let out were as painful as when Desmond was conscious, and the full weight of his injuries were thrust upon him. William could do _nothing,_ except for remain at Desmond's side and hope the Templars wouldn't kill them all. The feeling of powerlessness never became familiar.

Shaun came into the room in a rush.

"Rebecca and Connor got the van." William turned.

"Were they followed?"

"I don't know, and at this point, I don't think it matters much. I've gathered the essentials for our supplies and equipment-- we have to go." William stood as Shaun turned, jogging back into the loft.

"Desmond." William put a tentative hand on Desmond's shoulder. The latter woke with a choked gasp, flinching as his arm sent another shockwave of _fire_ through his body. Tears formed in Desmond's eyes, falling down his cheeks as he rolled to his left. William grit his teeth, willing his own urge to weep away as he stopped Desmond's movements with a hand.

No matter how much the boy had complained about hurting, even when he'd injured something from training too hard-- being _pushed_ too hard-- or breaking a bone, William had never seen Desmond weep from a physical injury. Even if he was an emotional roller coaster, whenever his body hurt, he'd grit his teeth and push on. Desmond had a remarkable tolerance for pain, as William supposed that all assassins developed; He couldn't imagine what Desmond was experiencing to cause such involuntary tears to form.

William grabbed the duffel of supplies from below the bedside table and pulled it over his shoulders.

"We need to go now, Desmond." He leaned forward to put one arm under Desmond's shoulders and another underneath his knees.

"Wait." Desmond spoke between ragged breaths. "My hoodie." Desmond pointed to his now-near-shredded hoodie, folded and placed underneath the bedside table. William hadn't even given it a thought.

"We don't have time for this, Desmond."

"We can't leave it." William nearly wrote off Desmond's fevered words as trauma-induced nonsense; the strength of Desmond's grip on the back of William's shirt as he was lifted from the bed made him agree.

"Okay." William crouched, maneuvering to pick up the hoodie, looping it around the strap of his duffel. He looked down to Desmond as he stood to leave the room.

Desmond buried his face in William's chest. The air passing through another person's lungs and the beating of another living heart cut through the rushing in Desmond's ears. He couldn't place another time when he'd been in so much pain-- it fogged his consciousness as cotton with burs still entwined in it would. Desmond closed his eyes as William carried him. The solid base his father provided chased off the ghosts that had forced their way back into his head.

_Altair, Ezio, Connor, Yusuf, Malik..._ They had to have been a dream, a hallucination, imagined as his return to 12th century Jerusalem. It was all in his head, he'd only the pieces of his fractured being to pick up again.

_Templars._ He and his father and the others had been attacked. Desmond struggled to recall the fact. One of them had aimed a gun at his head, but he'd been _saved._ The word struck him as a blow. _How?_ His-- _Ezio's_ \-- friend, Yusuf Tazim had jumped in and saved him. None of it made sense. None of it could be real, the haze over the memory obscuring it as a dream would be upon waking.

Even yet, there wasn't much more he could focus on but his arm-- there was no escaping from its torture.

"Shaun." William came into the loft. Yusuf was on his feet, being supported by Ezio and Malik, the three of them looking expectantly to William. Shaun had an overstuffed backpack and duffel slung over his shoulders, and was hefting a case with electronic equipment in it when he replied.

"Let's go." He beckoned Altair to carry another one of their equipment cases before ordering the others to follow. William held his breath; they were so _close,_ and so much could go wrong in so little time.

Connor waited for them on the ground floor.

"The alley is clear, but I fear we do not have much time." Connor's already blackening eye could speak for itself. "Templar agents watch the streets, I do not know if we were followed."

William tightened his grip around Desmond, holding his breath as they ventured into the alley. Connor led them around to the back of the van, opening the back doors for them as they piled inside. It wasn't until they had shut the doors behind them that the gunfire started.

"They just pick the _best_ times, don't they?" Rebecca cursed. With the van's motor still running, she peeled out of the alleyway, the others simultaneously trying to duck from incoming bullets and to keep their footing. Yusuf cried out as Ezio stumbled against his knee, while Shaun cursed as he was thrown against one of their crates. Shaun pushed himself off of the crate, using his leverage as best as he could to force his way to the front of the van. Once he clambered into the passenger seat, he spoke, adrenalin causing his voice to crack.

"This is why you don't get to drive." He frantically fastened his seatbelt.

"This is _so_ not the time, Hastings!" Rebecca snapped. One glance in the rearview mirror told her they were being followed. Shaun appeared to notice the same thing-- he quieted as he realized the immensity of what it meant if they were followed out of the city.

"Rebecca, what happens if..."

"I don't know, Shaun." _Do we ever know how to get out of situations like this?_ She weaved through traffic, cursing as it slowed in front of her. At least the bullets had stopped, and none of them had been hit. _One step at a time._ Her attempt at a calming breath was still shaky as she sped through a red light, narrowly missing two possible collisions.

_Shit._ She couldn't seem to shake Abstergo off of their trail.

"Hold on!" Rebecca pulled around a corner, the suspension straining the van, nearly letting it flip. Nearly. Altair was thrown across the back of the van, Connor put an arm out to stop him from hitting the wall. Altair nodded in thanks, Malik then pulling him to the floor where the rest of them were seated, using the two benches that lined the walls of the van to brace themselves.

_"Down here, dammit!"_ Malik cursed.

_"Well, I'm sorry I do not have complete mastery of how to behave in futuristic vehicles!"_ Altair retorted. William found he could do no more than brace himself against the sudden swerves and turns of the van, placing a hand behind Desmond's head to hold him closer. All he could do was desperately and repetitively whisper:

"It's okay, Desmond, I know. I know it hurts, it'll be okay, I promise." _Please._ The sound of Desmond screaming because of how much pain he was in broke William apart.

Rebecca grit her teeth. The Templars were nothing if not persistent. They would approach the city limits soon, and nothing could obscure their path once they left the cover of masses of people condensed into so little space. Rebecca looked in the rearview mirror another time, acting without thinking through her decision. She braked, jerking the wheel to the left and forcing the van into a vicious U-turn. Shaun looked as if he were about to lose his lunch. Even though he gripped the edges of his seat with white knuckles, he didn't say a word.

Rebecca floored the gas, taking off in the opposite direction that the Templars were currently headed. She turned into an alley, desperately trying to make the sharp turns to get them through the narrow paths.

They came out onto another street, turning so sharply that the left side of the van clipped an unsuspecting sedan. Rebecca mumbled an apology, more concentrated on if they were _still_ being followed or not. The outer city still seemed distant, but it was in sight.

By some miracle, or stroke of luck, they made it out of the city, and as they passed the outer limits, Rebecca looked in the rearview mirror-- the night didn't reveal anyone to be following them.

"Shaun, are we still in the clear? Did we lose them?" Shaun sat up a little straighter in his seat, a bewildered expression coming over his face as he processed what he was seeing.

"I...I think we actually evaded a full-blown Templar attack. With two injured assassins, our systems compromised, and minimal equipment, I'd say it's a mission well completed."

"Always the optimist, aren't you, Shaun?" Rebecca shook her head, letting out a shaky breath of relief. They'd a long drive ahead of them, however all they had to do was worry about the illuminated path ahead-- the city and its threats where behind them.

***

Vidic was seething. He punched the call button on his phone, grinding his teeth as his field operative picked up on the other end.

"I gave you _specific orders._ " They had been inches away from getting Miles and the others, so _close_ to finally getting answers, or at the very least, some form of vain penance. "You were to apprehend Subject 17 and the other assassins. You were in pursuit, and would have _had_ them. Why did you turn back?"

"We had orders from another higher-up, Boss."

"Who?"

"They said you'd know who they were." His field agent sounded about as confused as he was angry. Vidic's glare locked on the man who stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back.

"Kenway." Vidic growled. He ended the call, storming across the room. Vidic was inches away from Haytham when the Englishman put up a hand to halt him, turning to face him with a smug look on his face.

"Before you begin shouting at me about how I breached your systems and challenged your authority-- I am all too aware."

"Why? What gives you the right or reason to jeopardize our-- _my_ \-- entire operation? How did you even..."

"If you're wondering how I managed to contact your field operatives-- a press of a button isn't that hard to figure out; you all really have made remarkable advances in the past...near three hundred years. As to _why_ I called off your attack..." Haytham paced, the mask on his face never faltering. He'd made the mistake of expressing his sentiment before-- it wouldn't happen again.

"It was reckless. There is nothing to be gained by capturing the group of the Assassins now except for more confusion. First, we should figure out why _you're_ still alive and why _I_ ended up here. After we find that out, finding and capturing the others will only benefit us-- rather than add to the chaos of our own uncertainty."

"Desmond Miles is the cause of this, that much I know. Finding him and his ancestors would answer our questions faster than doing nothing would."

"If what you say is true, I too am one of this Desmond's ancestors." _Quite honestly, I could care less._ "You could find your answers in me. As a fellow Templar, I am at your disposal." Haytham held his arms out.

"Your judgement is clouded, Connor is your son."

"Very distant son, who did succeed in killing me, once. My judgment is no more clouded than yours."

"What do you mean?"

"This Desmond Miles killed you. Undoubtedly, you hold some sort of grudge against him." Vidic clenched his jaw. Haytham wasn't wrong. However, now that the Assassins had disappeared into the night like the ghosts they claimed to be, they didn't have many viable options. Vidic sighed, gesturing Haytham to join him once again at his desk.

"What do you suppose we do?"

***

It wasn't until the early hours of morning that the Assassins made it into the forest-- the cabin Shaun had mentioned hard to find being secluded in the trees and even harder to find due to the veil of night.

"Are you sure you saw a cabin?" Rebecca huffed as she turned down yet another dirt path.

"Of course I'm _sure_ \-- the wilderness is a bit hard to navigate through in the dark. I apologize for not having _night vision._ "

"That's what headlights are for." Shaun sighed.

"We should be close."

The back of the van held an eerie silence over their heads. William had finally relented, giving Desmond more of the sedative Ruben had left for them. The weighted silence among them was far more preferable to Desmond's cries, no matter how the ancestors shifted in discomfort, the occasional hiss from Yusuf when they ran over a bump.

When they reached the old cabin, it was nearly dawn.

"Took us long enough." Shaun mumbled.

"That's what happens when Shaun Hastings gives directions." Rebecca countered.

"Or when we give control of the vehicle to Rebecca." Shaun taunted.

"Enough." The biting edge of William's voice was dulled by his exhaustion. "Rebecca, Connor-- scope out the place, make sure it's abandoned. Shaun, help me and start getting our equipment ready to unload." William shifted, lifting himself to sit on one of the benches in the back of the van. The others moved as he did. Connor climbed over the others, tomahawk already in hand as he hopped out of the back. Shaun turned to join William and the others as they waited.

"Lucky break, wasn't it?" Shaun mentioned. William grimaced.

"Knock on wood, but I don't think it was our cunning escape that evaded them-- they must know something."

"What if they're cohorts with The Ones Who Came Before?" Shaun whispered.

"Then we'll be running from both of them." The silence settled in again. It wasn't long before Rebecca came around to the back of the van with Connor, a relieved look painting her face.

"It's all clear-- it doesn't look like anyone's lived here for years." William let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Let's get going, then." William stood, filing out of the van with the others.

Rebecca hadn't been lying when she said the place hadn't been lived in for a number of years. William could _taste_ the dust in the air. Altair sneezed as they made their way inside. The place had been abandoned, yet there were still pieces of furniture and appliances adorning the space.

"It's not the greatest, but it's all we have." Rebecca said, closing the door behind the group as they entered.

"We'll need to hide the van." Shaun mentioned, setting one of their crates down.

"After we get the rest of our supplies. We'll need to get everything up and running ASAP if we want to stay ahead of the Templars." _Or attempt to be._ Shaun nodded in agreement.

"We'll get right to work, then."

***

There were four rooms that could function as bedrooms, and only one with a bed. William had accommodated Desmond as well as he could, feeling at a loss without the monitoring equipment that they'd left behind. He kept a persistent vigil-- only leaving Desmond's side for the most necessary tasks.

It wasn't long before Desmond woke again-- yet this time, he was silent as his eyelids fluttered open. A dreamless sleep had brought clarity through his nebulous state of pain. He was hurt, beaten down and fighting a part of him that was so willing to give up that he almost gave in. They had been running since the Temple-- how many days, weeks had it been?-- the burden the Assassins carried seemed to permit nothing else.

Their enemy was bigger than the Templars, now. The Brotherhood had faltered, yet still they were alive. Desmond couldn't call himself an Assassin without a will to persevere. He had to try _something._

Desmond looked to his father, who sat at his side. The older man's gaze wandered out the window, lost in some reverie of-- what was it, fear, anger, remorse?

"Dad." William snapped to attention, "I know that they're here." Desmond whispered. His voice was raspy and thin from disuse and exhaustion, while his eyes were wide through the delirium of both pain and painkillers. William looked away, closing his eyes in a quiet remorse.

"I want to see them."

"We didn't want you to..."

"The Bleeding Effect, I know. But we can't keep them hidden away forever. The Brotherhood needs fighters like them."

"Desmond..."

"Dad..." The words caught in his throat. Such impact a single word made. How many times had its connotations changed since Desmond was a boy?

"Please." After reflecting for a moment, William nodded, placing a hand over Desmond's unscathed. Weak fingers curled around his for a moment, before loosening again.

"Are you sure you're strong enough?" Desmond managed a half smile. A smirk, one that broke William's heart-- it was one of the confident and rambunctious boy he had been, without the literal weight of the entire world on his shoulders. However, no matter the resemblance of a Desmond long past, it still painfully differed from the pale, haggard, and broken man-- _I suppose he is a man, now, isn't he_ \-- that lay on the bed before him.

"No. But when have I ever been sure of anything?"William managed to smile back at his son.

"Okay." Furiously blinking tears away, he turned to leave the room.

"Unbelievable." Shaun's ever petulant accent cut through the storm in William's head. He sat with a very befuddled Altair at a computer, the latter leaning closer to the screen with every breath and developing a further confused look on his face. "You utilize _ancient technology_ that is more advanced than _anything_ I have ever seen, and you can't work _Google?_ "

"Go easy on him, Shaun. He nearly had a panic attack when he discovered there's a such thing as a shower." Rebecca quipped.

"Are you _sure_ this is the same Altair Ibn La'ahad who was essentially the grandfather of our entire Brotherhood?"

"Who else would I be?" Altair interjected. William cleared his throat; the room fell silent, all eyes to him.

"He wants to see them." Nervous glances and downcast eyes filled the space. Finally, Rebecca spoke.

"Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, anything could trigger another mental break at this point."

"I don't, but he insisted." William's eyes were dark with worry.

"Then what else can we do?" Shaun mentioned. "We'd better get on with it, then. Altair should probably go in first, and then the others. All of them at once would be far too much overload for all parties involved." William nodded. Altair stood as Shaun gestured to him, and followed as William turned away.

William took a deep breath. Everything could go wrong.

When Desmond locked eyes with Altair, the glint of familiarity, as if looking into a mirror was a comfort. Past that, Desmond was lost for words. What was he to say to such a stoic figure? One so wise, so revered? Desmond shared such a close bond with these people, these _assassins_ , yet few of them knew who each other were. Altair stood before him, still as stone, saying little and conveying even less emotion on his face. Straight to business, then.

"The Templars are still our enemy, and the Brotherhood has fallen. We need to fight back. Will you join us?" Altair regarded Desmond for a moment.

"The Apple whispered your name on the breath of the wind. It spoke of buildings that touched past even the tallest tower of Damas, and wars fought beyond even the Crusader's comprehension. No matter what I would seek, it always reverted back to one from the future, one who bore my face and creed. I thought it meant that I may live past my due, but even yet it is not true. I understand now that there are forces that work that I cannot ever hope to control or understand. I can, however, fulfill my duty to my fellow brothers. I will fight with you, Desmond Miles."

There was a kind of excitement that welled in Desmond's stomach. It flickered out as his weakness pulled at him, it was all he could do to force a smile of reassurance to his face. He beamed at the Master before him-- so many hours, _days_  that felt as years spent in Altair's place and Desmond was finally able to speak with the man.

"Thank you, Altair." Altair nodded, a curt motion of both welcome and respect.

In which Altair emitted stoicism, Ezio emoted enough for them both. As Ezio walked into the room, Desmond winced-- the Mentor made him think of an entire life lived, golden-brown irises were filled with an exhaustion and pain that was more ingrained than anything Desmond could have imagined. Countless scars contorted and became apparent as Ezio's eyebrows lifted in his empathy toward the man who lay before him-- so familiar was Desmond to him that he felt _responsible_ in some part for what had happened.

Ezio blinked tears from his eyes.

"I am sorry, Desmond Miles. Minerva... I thought..." Ezio considered his words, "They lied. And for all the good I thought I would do... you still ended up here." Desmond smiled, something that was even yet warm through tired eyes.

"Don't worry about it. They lied to me, too. For as much as you've done, what's happened is my own doing. My choice. And for it, I'll live with the consequences." Desmond lowered his eyes, glancing to his bandaged arm. _Maybe I deserve this. Death only comes to those who deserve mercy._ The world was going to be one enslaved, yet Desmond felt no remorse for the decision. Yet for the outcome, he may as well drown in his guilt. What peace was there in a world like that?

"They said that I would die." Desmond continued, "They told me the world would be saved, but at a price. Since I'm still breathing, I'm still able to make a choice-- I want to fight, to end The Ones Who Came Before and their plot. Our Brotherhood is lacking. I'd be honored to have a fighter like you on our side." As Ezio took in Desmond's words, his gaze intensified. He brought his hand across his chest in a salute.

"It is the least I can do, to fight with you."

As Ezio left the room, Connor entered, his expression as bewildered as the other's were determined. Desmond felt an overwhelming barrage of emotion as he met Connor's eyes. For a man who had never seen Desmond's face before they were all thrust upon one another, Desmond knew everything about him-- tragedy, victory, or otherwise. Tears made their way to Desmond's eyes; everything he'd experienced in Connor's memories came back to him.

"Are you all right?" Connor inched closer to Desmond's side. Desmond nodded, lifting a shaky hand to wipe his tears away.

"They told you about the Animus?"

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything. I know everything that happened to you, and I couldn't do anything to stop it." Connor paused, weighing the feelings of intrusion and sympathy.

"It is alright." Desmond shook his head. He continued:

"The Brotherhood needs assassins that can fight both the Templars and these... _divine_ beings the Precursors are. Would you fight with us?"

"The Assassins are close to all that I have, now. I will help you."

"Thank you."

Even after Desmond had gotten positive answers from the ancestors-- Yusuf and Malik included, both of them just as he remembered them interacting with Ezio and Altair-- there was still a labyrinth of darkness that he could feel in front of them all. Would their attempts be as fruitless as so many had been in the past? Would _he_ fail to accomplish the task and the honor that still being alive allowed him? Desmond willed tears away as he turned his head to the window.

The sun had just cleared the horizon, making its way through the cover of trees, the shadows of dawn still being cast behind them. Just past the tree line, Desmond could see the beginnings of the wind fields.

Desmond remembered the windmills. Such vast potential in something that was made of synthetic metal. He had wondered whether or not it meant that man could be capable of even greater power. Being atop one meant being on top of the world, providing such clarity that at one time allowed Desmond to tentatively accept his new initiative through a newly mended conscience. Through a fugue of pain and delirium of medication, Desmond could still grasp at that shred of clarity-- if only for a fleeting moment. He was scared, and vulnerable, and weak-- but maybe, just _maybe_ there was still hope. The assassins wouldn't have to run anymore-- they could win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all SO much for reading, commenting, and reviewing, it means the world to me. Now that I'm on Summer break, I'll try to update more regularly, certainly without month-or-more long gaps in between each one. However, I am going to have at LEAST a 10 day lapse (probably a little longer) between this update and the next-- my computer screen needs to be replaced and we're sending it into the manufacturer in a few days, so I may or may not be able to work on the next chapter for a little while. 
> 
> BUT with that being said, I'll try to keep up with everything as regularly as I can.
> 
>  
> 
> Again, you all have my warmest thanks and gratitude, and as always, don't be afraid to comment and review!


	6. Cabin Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, another update! I apologize again, my computer took longer than expected to get back to me after sending it in for repair; additionally, I've been super into the Thief series lately, so, undoubtedly, I've gotten a little distracted.
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!

_The Temple stirred. It was not Those Who Came Before who gave it life, rather, it was its own entity that complied with their wishes. The structure made of steel and stone was organic in nature-- it breathed with the pulsing of the earth._

_The Precursor's earth-- one that resonated within each one of their bodies; They were of the earth as much as the earth was of Them._

_That was why, perhaps, that the Temple and Their artifacts had been so timelessly infallible. Forged from the fire and steel that had come as ore in the ground, no mortal could truly control them, much less destroy them._

_The Temple had been dormant since the age of the Precursors; they were unable to activate it in time for their own demise. Still, like the humans who had spawned from their zeal, they were persistent. They had the power to bend time and space around them, so they did. In meticulous calculation and in enough time for the humans to figure the puzzle out, they had named a chosen one and a date that would serve as their deadline. There could be no other way._

"Desmond Miles lives," _the Temple whispered in an eternal unrest. This was not the prophecy Those Who Came Before had foreseen. Juno was free-- Minerva and Jupiter could feel her energy intertwining with every system man had created; she became one even with those that they hadn't. She'd reach the Core soon enough._

 _They had created mankind, not to control them, but to observe them. The universe was infinite in possibilities that were theirs for manipulating. Human life was futile, it was pointless-- yet_ Desmond Miles lived. _Through forces that would kill even the Precursors themselves, put an end not only to human civilization, but all civilization, a mortal being survived. He defied. He would rise from the proverbial ashes and live_.

***

Desmond dreamt. His entire being was exhausted, yet he still woke with silhouettes of dreams on his eyelids. He never remembered them-- only that they resonated with a muted glow of blue among the black of sleep.

The blue should have been comforting-- blue was the aura of an ally, the color of something that was cool and flowed to carry anything harmful away. It was familiar-- the color of Lucy's eyes, the remnant color of the Animus core, Clay as he gave up the last part of himself to save Desmond-- the blue that encompassed the Temple's power and that heated to white to destroy him-- absorbing the sun and incinerating him with it.

Desmond couldn't remember his dreams, but they made him afraid; an uneasy knot of doubt made itself apparent every time he woke. Sometimes, he woke with tears on his face, streams of them rolling into each other to cover his cheeks. Perhaps the most disconcerting thing was that he didn't know _why_ he wept. Was it from pain, or the memories that such vague dreams left him to relive?

Desmond looked down at his arm. The blackened skin was gone-- the healing tissue now an angry red. It seemed to hurt _more_ as it healed. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

The monotony of being bedridden had dulled Desmond's awareness. Though he was now conscious for longer periods of time, and becoming even more lucid as his father and the others came to watch over him and keep him company, he was still numb to the passing of time. The days passed in a blur, the sun rising and setting through his window, as it always had, and now would continue to. Sounds of life blurred into each other as the others moved about; they set up equipment, cleaned the settled dust that seemed to cling to _everything._ Desmond wondered how old the cabin was, and how long it had been since someone had lived there.

After a few days, or weeks, or handful of times the sun rose and set in its unstoppable rhythm, Desmond had endeavored to get on his feet, the anxiety that welled within him near to torturing him as much as the impatience that came with being bed-ridden.

He remembered the Templar attack, in the vague haze that being in such pain would allow, and how he had crumpled to the floor without so much as being able to take a step.

Desmond grit his teeth in the memory. He looked down to his feet as he sat on the side of his bed, wanting to curse how much he was _shaking._ His burned arm had been wrapped and put in a sling, and his left was supporting him as he sat. William stood next to him, anxiously holding out his hand for support. Desmond pointedly looked away, taking a deep breath and shifting his weight so that he stood.

As Desmond lifted himself to his feet, he _trembled._ His legs threatened to buckle underneath him, and as Desmond threw an arm out to steady himself, William reacted, grabbing Desmond's shoulders. As much as Desmond hated the weakness that overtook him, he leaned into the support.

William gripped Desmond tighter as he felt his son's weight in his arms. _Muscle atrophy._ Rebecca had mentioned it as one of the side effects of being in the older models of the Animus for too long. The same condition applied to medical patients who were confined to bed-- otherwordly injury or no, Desmond was no different. He couldn't support his own body yet.

The prospect broke William's heart. He was beginning to wonder how many pieces it could be shattered into before it wasn't there anymore.

"If you want to see the others, I can..."

"No. If I'm getting out of this room it'll be by myself, or not at all," Desmond mumbled. His words were mostly obscured by his frustration. His breathing was heavy, the small amount of movement already tiring him. William complied, helping Desmond back to where he sat on the edge of the bed. He decided to ignore the tears that had formed in Desmond's eyes-- they were blank underneath as William helped Desmond to lay, propped against a pile of pillows. Desmond's gaze wandered to the window across the room. Mid-morning light poured through the layer of clouds that had brought snow since the last night. However long it had been, Winter was still strong.

Desmond shivered as William helped him pull blankets to cover him again. The cabin was full of drafts, and despite fires going and space heaters running, Desmond felt hyperaware to the cold-- and any other sensation as it brushed against his skin, or reverberated in his ears, or met his eyes. It was as if he had been born again, and everything felt more extreme than it actually was. Perhaps whatever burned him was going to heal him, as well.

Apart from the cold, Desmond felt drained from even such a small amount of exertion. William sat at his son's side, as quiet as ever, the look behind his eyes conveying a war being fought. It seemed the notion was ingrained inside Desmond, as well. He squinted, trying to will away the fog that would inevitably turn into ghosts. _This is what I have become._ Desmond shut his eyes, willing away his waking mind for the numbing effect of sleep, and hoped that his un-graspable dreams wouldn't turn into nightmares.

William looked away as Desmond fell asleep. If they were to do anything, if Desmond was going to fight again, it would take time and patience-- both were things they were all short of. They had been given a date for the end of the world before. Now, a different end beheld an ambiguous time and place. There was no way to know when or where or _what_ to do. William closed the curtains in Desmond's room. He was afraid-- afraid that Desmond would fail, that they _all_ would fail, but if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that if Desmond was strong enough to survive through all he had been through, he was strong enough to bear what lay ahead of him.

***

Rebecca had kept herself busy, constantly setting up equipment, checking radio waves, furthering the ancestor's understanding of the English language and the 21st century, looking after Desmond; she constantly _moved,_ more anxious than afraid of what would happen if she didn't. Their flight from the city was still as fresh and raw as it had been that night. It wasn't until Shaun _forced_ her to take a break, sleep, and _rest_ that she was able to stew in her own thoughts. Rebecca hated it. She sat, curled in a chair, holding a hot cup of tea, when Shaun came to sit beside her.

"Hey." The tenderness of Shaun's voice surprised her. It didn't seem common for the man to be anything but sarcastic.

Shaun, in turn, couldn't think of much else that wouldn't be a sarcastic remark about their situation.

"Are you doing alright?" Rebecca looked up.

"I'm fine."

"Like hell you are."

"Excuse me?"

"You've been working yourself to exhaustion, and have hardly said a word since we've got here. And that alone, I might add, is reason for concern enough." Rebecca sighed.

"Do you ever wonder if we're really, you know, _truly_ doing the right thing? Killing people isn't exactly morally looked upon as good."

"Rebecca, I..."

"I know the horse has been beaten to death on his subject, but..."

"You had to kill someone during your mission with Connor," Shaun finished.

"They were about to catch our trail. Connor was about to be ambushed, and I couldn't go after him without being seen, so I..." Shaun grimaced in sympathy.

"We are _assassins._ It's kind of part of the job description."

"He had a family, Shaun. Templar or not, he was a _human being_ whose life I took from him. What gives me that right?"

"Nothing. But it was necessary to save not only Connor's life, but ours as well."

"That's what we keep telling ourselves, but does it really hold any bearing?" Rebecca put her tea down, her voice anxiety-laden. Shaun was at a loss.

"I think it's the fact that you feel guilt that provides any consolation, if any can be given." Shaun rubbed the back of his neck.

"I just keep thinking about Those Who Came Before, and how Juno's threat takes away the labels of 'Assassin' and 'Templar' and strips us down to all being _human._ It's futile to kill each other when we should be trying to fight against _Them._ "

"The Templars have always been manipulative bastards. Their god-complex almost reaches that of the Precursors. They think they have a chance at bargaining," Shaun scoffed.

He looked toward the kitchen, where Ezio stood, and was apparently trying to find Yusuf's favorite kind of tea-- _or, the closest thing to it, hundreds of years in the future._ Shaun could have sworn the Italian hadn't left the man's side since they had settled in. He chuckled.

"Well, despite the futility of human existence, I really can admire the ancestors."

"Why is that?" Rebecca questioned.

"They care for their friends, whether or not they are able to figure out how to boil water." Shaun smirked, his face softening as he put a hand on Rebecca's shoulder, before walking over to aid the Mentor who was being perplexed by the modern-day stove. Rebecca smiled at how Ezio's furrowed expression lightened as Shaun offered his help. They were slowly beginning to trust one another. The thought was heartwarming.

"You need to turn the stove on, like this." One of the burners flared to life as Shaun turned the dial. _Thank_ god _the gas and electricity had still worked._ They didn't know how much longer it would last; they figured it was a temporary dwelling, anyway. Ezio jumped back in his surprise at the stove.

"I swear, your technology is that of gods." Shaun had to cover a snort at the exaggeration. "I wish. Then we wouldn't be in this dire straits of a situation." Shaun leaned on the counter. When Ezio made no attempt at conversation, Shaun sighed.

"So, how's Yusuf? The past week has kept me too busy to keep tabs on everyone."

"Restless, but healing-- or so I hope." Shaun nodded in agreement. They were lucky that all the collective suffered was Yusuf's injured knee and Connor's black eye. It disconcerted him. If Abstergo was so focused on finding them, or more probably _Desmond_ , they could have taken all of them within a moment's notice.

The teapot howled as the water boiled.

"Alright, it's ready. What kind of tea did you pick?" Shaun picked up the teapot, walking to find a mug in one of the cabinets.

"Chai-- the ingredients all seem like things Yusuf would like." Ezio put the tea in the mug Shaun handed him. "Thank you, Shaun." Ezio nodded to him as he walked out of the kitchen, heading to the room that had been designated to the two of them.

"I brought you tea." Ezio walked through the doorway, walking toward the bed where Yusuf lay. The man grunted, rousing from a half-doze with his eyes wandering until they met the Mentor's.

"It sure smells wonderful." Yusuf sat up, wincing as the movement sent stiff tendrils of pain through his injured leg. They had been icing it on and off, yet some of the swelling still hadn't gone down.

"How are you feeling?" Ezio handed Yusuf the mug, the latter finding the warmth pleasing to both his fingers and his belly as he sipped the hot liquid.

"I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"Deal with injury and age as if you were still a young man." Ezio scoffed.

"Hardly-- this cold makes me move about as if I'm one of these floorboards." Ezio tapped his foot.

"I don't think floorboards move by their own volition, Ezio."

"That wasn't the point." Ezio rested his chin on his palm, feigning an exasperated expression. Yusuf smirked. A few moments passed, when Yusuf's face fell.

"Ezio, I..." The thought had been eating away at him since he'd arrived in this foreign time and place-- even the mentor's prior reassurances did nothing for his conscience. "Before, when I asked about Sofia, you simply said that 'she was saved.' The last thing I remember of that evening is the Byzantines..." Yusuf paused, the memory bringing unwanted pain and fear. "The Byzantines had outnumbered us, and before I could get to them all--" Yusuf remembered the scar that had appeared on his back upon his traversing time and space-- it matched the Templar's still too-familiar blade. The thought sent a phantom ache through his spine.

"Yusuf," Ezio interrupted his thoughts.

"They took her, Ezio." Yusuf was surprised at the tears that had formed in his eyes. "Before I could kill the _last_ one, they had taken my life and hers from my grasp. I failed you, brother." Yusuf broke he and Ezio's eye contact, looking down.

"Yusuf, listen to me. Sofia was saved. I was able to find her, and free her from her captors before any harm came to pass. That chance would not have been given, had it not been for you." Ezio reached forward, grabbing Yusuf's shoulder. Sometimes, he had to reassure himself that his friend was still in front of him, and that it wasn't some sick game being played by the Apple.

"You gave your life so that you could fulfill my wish to keep Sofia safe. Never would that be marked a failure." Yusuf raised his eyebrows, touched by the sincerity in Ezio's voice. He cleared his throat.

"You and Sofia made it out of Istanbul safely, then?"

"We did." Ezio's face fell, however as he remembered where his journey had led him to last. So much for giving up the fighting. Did Sofia search for him, did she know he was gone, or _where_ he had gone? Looking outside to the thick blankets of snow, he missed how the setting Constantinople sun had cast such a warm glow on Sofia's face, her smile radiating as much as the Turkish Summer did.

"Were you, you know...." Yusuf gestured, attempting to ask a question without actually asking it.

"What?"

"When you ended up here, were you dying directly beforehand?" Ezio sat back in his chair, bewildered by the question.

"A charming question, but no. I was in Altair's library. The Apple of Eden allowed me to speak to Desmond Miles, and then the next thing I knew, I was in the Temple with the man himself and Altair."

"It's strange that the last thing I, Malik, and Altair remember our deaths, while you and Connor were still alive, and pulled here." Yusuf's face furrowed in his confusion.

"I do not know, any more than you do, Brother." Ezio sighed. Yusuf shrugged his shoulders, fidgeting as he tried to find a more comfortable position.

"How much longer until I can move around like the fit young man I was a week and a few hundred years ago?"

"You sound like a child-- and you call _me_ impatient."

"It's called cabin fever." Rebecca's voice sounded from the door. Ezio turned, Yusuf looked up to meet her eyes. "You're restless. Bill's gone out on a supply run, hopefully he can find something to help you move around better, Yusuf." Rebecca leaned on the doorframe, offering a comforting smile."I was about to check on Desmond, do you two need anything?"

"Is it safe for him to venture so far if the Templars are on our trail?" Ezio questioned.

"Probably not," Rebecca agreed, "but we can only survive on stale canned food for so long, and besides, were short on other necessary supplies as well."

"Is there any way Ezio and I could play a game of chess? Small talk was never his forte." Yusuf changed the subject, pointing at Ezio with his thumb.

"You seem to be forgetting my tales of _Firenze,_ Yusuf." Yusuf snorted at Ezio's retort. Rebecca chuckled.

"There has to be a chessboard in this house somewhere. I'll scout the place."

***

William sighed as he broke past the tree line, the forest now behind him. _Thank whoever abandoned that cabin for leaving their car._ William had found the vehicle in an old garage near the cabin, and by some miracle was able to get it running again. The van would have been far too conspicuous.

The deep breath William took was less in exasperation and more in trying to quell the fear that had been rising as bile in his throat. It had been a week, yet it was as if he could _feel_ the Templar's eyes on them at every moment. Venturing out into the general populace was dangerous, but they needed supplies. In lieu of the equipment they no longer had, they had to risk cutting communication between one another if they separated. It drove William mad.

He stopped at a Wal-Mart just outside of Manhattan, the parking lot desolate with the newly falling snow. The stuff didn't seem to _stop._ William's watch read _1:00am_ \-- hopefully it was a suitable hour for any possible Templar patrols to be out of range. William grit his teeth. It was never so simple.

It was a strange feeling, walking along aisles, finding _groceries_ \-- when he and the others were facing powers that were above anyone's comprehension. If Juno was going to take over the world, then who was to say that she wasn't following their every move? Did she know Desmond was still alive? Was it a part of her plan in the first place? William turned a corner, ducking his head so that his baseball cap hid his eyes as another night owl-store goer passed him.

Was it so surprising that they escaped the grasp of the Templars? Perhaps they were left in the dark after their satellite project failed. _No._ William discredited the idea-- the Templars couldn't have tracked them had they not had the most capable means.

The hair on the back of William's neck stood on end. Until they formed some sort of protection for themselves, whether it be with help, or their own ability to build foundations, they were vulnerable. Anywhere outside the middle of nowhere could have been giving the Templars a chance to attack them. They wanted Desmond so much, then they'd find him-- sooner, or later. For all of their sakes, William hoped it would be later, if not at all.

He'd wanted to stay in the city-- where carefully formed stealth missions would help them scope out the Templar offense, and give them a better chance of finding out what they were dealing with. It seemed, however that the assassins would work in the dark, whether they wanted to or not.

William sighed as he gathered the supplies and put them in the back of his car--they'd need help. Their radio silence would have to be broken if they were to proceed.

***

Desmond squinted as he stared at his toes. Beneath the blankets he was covered in, he could feel them curling, uncurling, and repeating the process over and over again. He told himself that if he could do that, then he could work up to his feet, then his legs, and then maybe he could finally _move_ as if he weren't a newborn deer.

Desmond looked up as the door opened, expecting to see Shaun-- Rebecca had left a few minutes prior. He was caught off guard when Yusuf stood in the door frame.

"What are you doing here?"

"Hello isn't the appropriate greeting?" Yusuf shrugged, endeavoring to make his way to Desmond's side. Desmond felt the urge to laugh as the Master Assassin before him _hopped on one foot_ to reach him. Yusuf sighed in relief as he reached the chair next to Desmond's bed, clutching his thigh, right above his knee.

"How's your knee?" Desmond asked. He swallowed a lump in his throat. The memory of seeing the man in front of him dead-- _Ezio_ seeing the man, dead-- hadn't left him. He was but a spectator. The mental reassurance did little.

"Infallibly still injured."

"You didn't have to come to watch me, the others have had it covered." Yusuf was clearly in pain, and it twisted something inside Desmond's stomach that he'd caused it. Yusuf scoffed.

" _Dela_ fell asleep, and I got bored. Besides, Rebecca needed some sleep, and Shaun seemed wrapped up in whatever he was doing."

"Thank you, I guess." Desmond smirked. Yusuf shrugged again.

"I figured I'm the most mobile of the two of us, so I should do something about it."

"Your entrance was so full of grace." Desmond could see why Ezio had grown so fond of the Turkish Assassin. Yusuf's smile made him want to do the same.

Despite Yusuf's optimism, Desmond still felt the pull of guilt-- all of the ancestors, along with Yusuf and Malik were away from home. Those Who Came Before were responsible, _they had to be_ , somehow, and some way-- by proxy it all was his fault, too.

"You must miss home," Desmond said, changing the subject. Yusuf looked away for a moment.

"I do-- and knowing that I'm not only an ocean away, but centuries away, it makes the yearning even more prominent. Still, I have fellow Brothers to fight and search alongside." Yusuf stretched his arms to either side of him. "When I consider that, the thing I miss the most about home is the warmth; no man is fit to bear this cold." Yusuf feigned a shiver. Desmond laughed.

"Welcome to New York, where it rains and snows and it's all around just fucking _cold._ Being this far north will do that." This time, it was Yusuf who chuckled.

"And others wonder why I never wanted to leave Istanbul. So much cold not only chills the body, but the soul, as well." Desmond smiled, a sad nostalgia coming over his expression.

"Enough about my home, what about you, Desmond Miles? Where is your home? Certainly it could not be here."

"It was Connor's home, at one point."

"And so the man is hardened for it--but you... you're still tender." Desmond sat, speechless for a moment.

"How would you know that?"

"Your emotions are written on your face, in your language, in the way you move. A man's disposition is greatly affected by where he is at rest."

"I... don't know. I lived on a secluded compound in the woods, growing up... and then I ran away, lived in this state for a while, and then got captured." _I've felt home through three different pairs of eyes, felt the safety of it and the heartbreak of it being taken away_. "I've started to think that there's no such thing." Was home with his mother and father, his family? What else had he to seek refuge to? Yusuf _tsked._

"There is always home."

"I've felt lost, and vulnerable my entire life."

"It is not always where one feels safe, but where one comes to self-realization." Desmond turned the words over in his head. No matter how he arranged them, they still provided no solace.

***

"Shaun, can you and Rebecca set up a secure phone line from here?" William had returned from his supply run, barely setting his things down before telling the others of his plan.

"Good morning to you too, Bill," Shaun responded. The sun had just started to break the horizon, yet William didn't need to ask why Shaun didn't seem to have slept. Shaun pulled his glasses off, rubbing a hand over his eyes to relieve them of his computer screen.

"Has anything come up?" William walked over to where Shaun sat. Shaun shook his head, trying to stifle a yawn.

"As far as we know, we know nothing of Abstergo's plans, but they know nothing of us. It's better than nothing, I suppose."

"Good. We need to call one of our teams." Shaun's eyes widened.

"I thought no one was to know about all of this?" Shaun questioned. "The chance increases exponentially that we're found the more people who know."

"We need help, and somewhere to stay. We can't camp here for long. All things beside, I'm not comfortable staying so close to the Temple. Not after all that's happened."

"What's going on?" Rebecca walked into the room, rubbing sleep out of her eyes and trying to tame her messy bed-head.

"Bill wants to reach out to some of the others." Shaun glanced between the two in front of him.

"I thought..."

"I said to keep Desmond and the ancestors a secret, but we're at a loss. We can't do this alone-- matters involving the Precursors have always been on a top-secret, need to know basis. However, we don't have the resources to pull this on our own."

"Who would we notify?" Rebecca sat down at her computer.

"Where was Gavin the last time we had correspondence?"

"Somewhere with the _Altair II._ "

"He and his team are still at sea?"

"As far as I know."

"Could you triangulate his location?"

"With some digging. We ditched our cell phones during the last Templar attack, so the ship's wireless markers are going to be difficult to find-- they're encrypted and buried within the network."

"I got us new burner phones. Find and set up a link as soon as you can."

"Will do, Bill." Rebecca turned to her computer screen, fingers already tapping rapidly at the keys. Shaun stood.

"Who's been watching Desmond?" William asked, realizing that neither Shaun or Rebecca had been at his side.

"Yusuf," Shaun replied.

"While I was gone? What if something had gone wrong?" Shaun sighed, running a hand through his hair. William had begrudgingly agreed to let the ancestors help in watching Desmond as he recovered-- that way William, Shaun, and Rebecca had more leeway in their operations. Still, the threat of the Bleeding Effect seemed to be ever present-- especially since Desmond's lapse after the Templar ambush.

"Rebecca or I would have stepped in."

"We agreed only to have the ancestors..."

"Watch Desmond while you were nearby, I know," Shaun said, nearly at the end of his patience. "They're going to be in close proximity soon enough, though and Rebecca needed the sleep." William sighed.

"What are the others doing?"

"Connor's outside, teaching Altair how to climb trees the last time I checked, Malik seems determined to read every book in this cabin, and Ezio fell asleep sometime while he stayed with Yusuf," Shaun said.

"Make sure no one hurts themselves." William rubbed a hand over his face, imagining _Altair_ of all people falling from a tree and breaking something. It was the last thing they needed.

"I'm sure Connor can..."

"Hastings."

"It's below freezing outside and..."

"And I've been driving in it for the past eight hours. I'm going to go check on Desmond, you go find our over-curious assassins."

"What did you manage to find on your supply run, Bill?" Rebecca turned, curious.

"Food, purified water-- I also picked up some medical supplies, a knee brace and crutches for Yusuf, along with bandages, and the like."

"Any complications?"

"No. But that's what has me so worried. Something's wrong, and it's not just that the ancestors have come back from the dead."

***

Altair stared at the tree branch above from the ground. Connor had moved with such ease to the highest tiers of the tree, he had been admittedly awestruck.

"It is just like climbing the side of a building." Connor called from above him.

"At home I do not climb with numb fingers." Altair abhorred the cold. It was not for lack of tolerance for the bite of the wind, but for the inability to feel that grew as the cold sapped the warmth from his veins.

"You can do it. Just do as I showed you." Altair sighed, his eyes hardening as he focused on his obstacle. He took off at a run, his hands scrambling for purchase as he latched on to the tree trunk. Using his momentum to pull himself upward, he leapt to grab onto the nearest branch, struggling to plant his feet once he had lifted himself up. He'd balanced upon smaller surfaces, but this one _swayed_ with the wind and was alarmingly slippery with snow. Altair sought the support of the tree trunk as he caught himself. He let out a satisfied huff.

"You have done well." Altair nodded in thanks, rubbing his hands together. They were numb with the cold, but he could still feel the pain of the bark tearing at them. The skin of his palms and fingertips were reddened and raw. He had calluses from his own climbing, but Connor's must have been gnarly and rough enough to sand the wood off the very trees he climbed.

"Do you think you could climb any higher?" Connor asked. Altair remained silent, unwilling to give up so soon, moreso to show his own weakness. He stood back from the tree trunk, bearing himself for a short running start. His foot nearly slipped as a voice called from below:

"Altair, Connor, I assume you haven't hurt yourselves too badly, yet?" Altair caught his balance, shooting an irritated gaze to the man below. "William says that he wants you two inside, where, it is a great deal safer and _warmer._ " Shaun stood with his hands buried in his coat pockets and his face buried in a scarf.

Connor had climbed down from the higher branches and landed next to Altair-- with more grace and delicacy that Altair would have thought such a large man capable of.

"Did we do something against his wishes?" Connor's face scrunched in worry.

"He's just worried about the lot of us. Climbing trees in the middle of Winter isn't exactly child's play." Connor nodded, starting his descent. Altair lingered for a moment after Connor touched the ground. The latter looked up at him.

"Is something wrong, Altair?" The Syrian shifted uncomfortably on his feet, looking away in his embarrassment.

"You did not instruct me in how to descend." Connor's eyes widened in apology. Shaun put a hand over his face.

"Are you a _cat?_ You are _the_ Master Assassin of Master Assassins and you can't get out of a tree?" Shaun sighed. Altair's eyes narrowed.

"New tasks require new skill sets, which take time to acquire. I apologize if my aptitude is not up to your expectations, Shaun," Altair hissed. Connor stepped forward, offering to resolve the conflict.

"It is as I said before, Altair. It is just as if you were climbing a building. You are plenty capable of doing so." Altair inwardly groaned, inching toward the tree trunk, finding adequate handholds before letting his feet slide off the branch.

His short descent was not so much controlled as it was fast-- his feet skidded along the side of the tree trunk, his grip on the knots in the bark the only thing keeping him from falling. The last few feet offered no traction, to which Altair reached the ground with a grunt, losing his footing on the slippery ground. He stood, brushing off the snow that clung to his clothing; he pointedly avoided the eye contact of the others.

"It is okay, Altair. I had a hard time when I first climbed a tree."

"Can we please go inside?" Shaun begged.

"Thank you for trying to teach me, Connor."

"We can try again when there is less snow." Connor and Altair nodded in agreement as they stepped inside the cabin.

"I found the snowmen," Shaun called.

"You guys must be freezing." Rebecca stood, walking to a nearby couch and grabbing the blankets that had been stowed there.

"Oh no, I'm fine, really," Shaun started.

"Not you, Hastings," Rebecca scoffed. She offered the blankets to Altair and Connor, the two taking them gratefully. Altair engaged Connor in a conversation about his weaponry, taking a particular fascination in his bow and tomahawk.

Rebecca turned to Shaun, who was settling back at his computer.

"I've set up the secure connection. We should be able to contact Gavin on the _Altair II._ "

"I'll get Bill."

***

William stood with the phone in his hand, staring at it as though he could will it to do his job for him. He took a deep breath, entering the number and waiting with his teeth grit as it rung.

"Who is this?" Gavin's gravelly voice grated over the phone, but it was more than a relief to hear such a familiar voice. William let out the breath he was holding.

"It's Bill."

"William? Why are you calling? What happened? We could risk..."

"Rebecca set up an encrypted line, we should be safe, for the time being."

"So I take it you were successful."

"Desmond was. In a matter of speaking," William said, his voice dropping as he contemplated the weight of his words.

"What went wrong, Bill?"

"Well, obviously, he saved the world--but at a price."

"Oh my god, William, is he..."

"Desmond's alive. The Precursors claimed he would die to save the world. We left to escape the storm, and when we came back, he was..."

"Alive?"

"One of his arms was burned as if with the sun itself, but he's alive. Recovering, slowly, but alive."

"Something tells me you didn't call me for an update."

"With Desmond's..." _rebirth? resurrection?_ "being alive, we came across even more anomalies. Five, to be exact."

"What do you mean?"

"I think it's better if I show you, otherwise you'd call me insane and disappear."

"What is this all about?"

"Where are you now, Gavin?"

"Off the coast of Finland in the Baltic Sea. Before December 21st, we were tracking a lead on that Templar who attacked Adriano's team. The same one who captured you in Egypt." William grimaced.

"Berg."

"He's done a lot of traveling over the past months-- must be high up within the Order. We were lucky to be so far north when he finally headed home."

"You said you were tracking him before the 21st. What are you doing now?"

"Our tracking systems and equipment has been offline since the solar flares started. We just recently got our cell signal and internet up and running again-- you're lucky to have called when you did."

"Do you have sailing capabilities?"

"We do." Gavin paused. "What do you need, William?"

"Gather your team. Send me word when you're nearing the States."

"Are you in trouble, Bill?"

"We were hiding in the City, but our hideout was compromised. We managed to escape back into the woods near the Temple, but we can't stay here forever. We need resources, supplies-- and help."

"Where do you want to meet?"

"The New York coast is too exposed. We'll travel farther north, and I'll let you know our coordinates."

"I'll be within range."

"Thank you, Gavin."

"Thank me after you tell me what's going on. Safety and Peace be upon you, Mentor."

"To you, as well."

***

"I hope you're happy." Vidic clasped his hands together as he sat at his desk. Haytham sat across from him, looking so infuriatingly _uninterested_ in any of his words that Vidic was set to burst. They had sent out an entirely inclusive, Order-wide alert for the assassins. Abstergo had teams all over the world if someone so much as _heard_ the name Miles they were to report in to the HQ in Rome.

So far, there had been no word.

"Happy about what, exactly?" Haytham leaned back in his chair, impervious eyes emitting nothing but ego. "If you're inquiring about my general well-being, I suggest you work on your consolation tactics."

"We've lost them. Due to your misplaced affections, we've lost both our enemy, and our answer to all of this."

"Very intimidating, Warren. Blaming me for your inability to lead your people." Haytham's voice was cool.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I work for control, I _die_ by my own son's hands for it and _this_ is what the Templars have become? With all of your new, advanced technology, you're still floundering when the enemy is crippled and broken, and even more vulnerable than normal."

"We will find them. No matter how long it takes, no matter _what_ it takes, we'll find them." Haytham's eyes narrowed.

"You're afraid of something. I don't know what, but you're scrambling because you fear what all of this means." Warren grit his teeth. He was about to reply, when the phone on his desk _beeped_ in notification.

"A call for you, Mr. Vidic."

"Who, and why?"

"Juhani Otso Berg, he claims to have information for you." Warren's eyes flicked to Haytham in spite. "Put him on the line."

_"Mitä vittua?!"_

"Juhani, it's good to hear from you."

"I thought you had _died_ , that our work with the Animus was finished. Then, in the middle of the night, I get a phone call, issued from _you_ that stated I was to be on high alert for people who should also be dead." Warren remained silent. "When you told me about your other research, and the tests, you never told me it would be like this."

"I unerringly said that I was to be kept out of that research. The Assassins are back, how, I don't know--" _The same force that brought Haytham and I back?_ "But we might as well make the most of it."

"You're telling me that you're alive, and you have _no idea_ how?"

"Have I ever been anything but honest with you, Juhani?"

"I don't know, you tell me." Warren rubbed a hand over his face.

"Our research that stemmed from the Animus Project is still far too primitive. It's still in its first stages, so we have limited resources. We're making progress, but that progress would be destroyed had I been included with my death."

"The test subjects?"

"Still being sustained." Warren heard Juhani sigh on the other side of the call.

"There's a reason you called me--let's hear it."

"I have contacts off of the coast that say an unmarked vessel left the region."

"Couldn't it have been a privately owned ship?"

"I don't think so. It's been sailing across the Baltic Sea for weeks-- lingering near the coast. No one's seen or reported any extraneous activity. It disappeared just a day or so ago."

"I still don't see how this is relevant, Berg."

"I thought it was just someone's ship, but now it leaves without any provocation at the same time you issue a red alert for the assassins? It seems too suspicious."

"Can you track it?" Juhani went silent on the other end of the line. "Juhani?"

"Our scouts say that it was heading for open sea-- it could be heading for the United States, or another remote location. We tried to get track the signal their sonar equipment was emitting, but it was blocked-- we couldn't get it. Their signals have been dead since the solar flares. It seems too strange to have them making an encrypted transmission, only to leave soon after."

"It's them." It was a long shot, but at that moment, it was the only shot they had. "Send a team to follow the ship, engaging only if there's certainty that Miles and the others are going to be on it."

"Do you want me on this?"

"No. I'm going to book you a flight to Rome. It's about time you came into HQ."

"Okay." Vidic hung up the phone, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"You're following such an unsupported lead?" Haytham interrupted Warren's train of thought.

"It's all we have, what else am I supposed to do?" Haytham let out an exasperated huff.

"We wait, and use our resources on a more solid trail."

"We can't afford the luxury of time, I'm afraid."

"Why?" Warren regarded Haytham for a moment, before sighing and rising to his feet.

"Do you promise to serve under the Templar Order?"

"Is there even a question?" Vidic's eyes were cold, and the understanding passed between them both. _His_   _Father_ and _son assassins were assassins-- and nepotism is plenty reason to betray a cause._

"You have my word."

"I need to show you something." Vidic turned, beckoning Haytham to follow him. The former walked to the nearest wall, a digital screen appearing before him. Typing in a code, Haytham watched in utter fascination as the screen disappeared, and a panel opened from the wall in its place. As the panel was activated, a door opened to an elevator. The two men entered. A smooth, artificial voice sounded as the doors closed.

 _"Vidic, Warren. Top level security clearance authorized."_ Haytham did nothing but glance to the speaker in the corner of the elevator, his hands clasped behind his back. Vidic internally cringed. He would have thought that the man would be at least _somewhat_ awed by such technology.

The elevator began its descent.

"You mentioned research-- very secretive, if I understood your operative correctly," Haytham started.

"Only the Inner Sanctum of the Order knows of this. Do you remember the Animus Project I told you about?"

"The one in which people of the current day can relive the lives of their ancestors." Vidic nodded.

"Animus technology sprouted from the Pieces of Eden, and their capabilities. The Precursors, as you know, are far more advanced beings than mortals can even comprehend-- some would say that they're synonymous with gods. Gods... can do a great deal more than sending one's consciousness back through time." The elevator doors opened, a corridor that was illuminated to white appeared in front of them.

 _Underground, artificial light,_  Haytham mused, squinting his eyes against the brightness. He followed Warren down the corridor, unclasping his hands from behind his back as he was led through a door.

The room they entered was dark, lightened only by the panoramic window that covered a wall to their right. An atrium appeared on the other side of the glass. There were mountains of equipment, more substantial than anything Haytham had ever seen before. Though the room was full, the main portion of the floor was dedicated to three identical machines-- they looked as though they were enormous glass jars laying on their sides, supported by more of the current century's technology.

Haytham suppressed a gasp as he realized there were _people_ in them.

"Are they..." Haytham stammered. _The work of gods._ Vidic's implications raced through his head and back again.

"Alive. They weren't always that way. The budding of Animus technology has enabled us to modify the different models, create life sustaining systems-- and with the help of the Precursor's artifacts, create life, from death."

"Immortality."

"If we succeed, they'll be born again, a new life available to reshape for them. Desmond and his ancestors have experienced the same thing, as have I, but from a different source. I need to know what that source is-- It's not just Those Who Came Before, it's something bigger."

"You want that power."

"The Templars would triumph-- our goals would be fulfilled, once and for all. If the Assassins have it, the world will fall as if the Catastrophe had happened anyway."

"Men cannot hold the power of Gods, Warren."

"We already do-- and we will." Haytham stood silently at Vidic's side, jaw clenched in his unease, yet his bearing was certain. "Welcome to the Order, Haytham." Vidic looked down at a monitor for the machines in the next room. He read the names; the three of them would be the dawn of a new world.

_Lucy Stillman-- Daniel Cross-- Clay Kaczmarek._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate it SO much. I hope you've all enjoyed the newest chapter, and as always, don't hesitate to comment and review!
> 
> For those who were confused about Juhani's statement in Finnish, "Mitä Vittua" (based on my research and my early-teenage obsession with a number of Finnish heavy metal bands) means "what the fuck." (Also, if I'm incorrect on that, let me know!)


	7. Pain Through Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [UPDATE]: I have completed some art for this chapter, of Juhani's daughter, Maia. I hope you enjoy!

_"Yusuf!_ " Ezio cursed, stumbling as Yusuf nudged him with his crutches, _again_. "I'm going to need those things if you keep this up."

"They're a little difficult to maneuver in, _Dela_. Forgive me." The hand Yusuf splayed across his chest was discredited by the look on his face.

"The first time was an accident. This is the fifth." Yusuf mocked a serious face, before breaking into a chuckle.

"It amuses me, I apologize."

"You two are _children_ ," Shaun quipped from across the room. Yusuf's laughter continued, both he and Ezio making their way to the nearby couch.

"I don't know, Shaun, it's probably the most appropriate reaction to having to use crutches I've ever seen," Rebecca commented.

"Acting like children when you are hundreds of years old is hardly a good reason for anything."

"Your loss, not mine." Rebecca shrugged. Her face lit up as Desmond came around the corner from the hallway.

The moment Desmond was able to rise and move about on his own, he spent his time with the others as much as he could. Moving around was difficult, still, and he tired quickly; he often only made it to the cabin's common area before needing to rest. He moved slowly, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders-- he didn't know if it was more to keep himself warm or to provide some semblance of security.

"Does the TV work?" Desmond asked as he settled on the couch, next to Yusuf and Ezio. He reached for the remote on the coffee table, chastising himself as his hand shook. He grabbed the remote, sitting back and turning the television on. Ezio and Yusuf jumped, their attention fixated on the machine. Desmond smirked.

"You're telling me that you haven't had them watch TV yet?" Desmond looked over to Rebecca and Shaun. "Or better yet, there weren't any TVs in the old assassin hideout?"

"Entertainment is the least of our concerns when we're on the run from a secret organization," William's voice sounded as he came through the front door.

"Couldn't it be used as a source of information-- even if it was biased and controlled, we'd know where the game stands."

"All we need is over internet waves-- communication, intel, information, everything." William rubbed his hands together. Desmond looked away, turning then to Yusuf, asking him what he'd like to watch.

"Anything new?" William asked Rebecca.

"Nothing we've picked up. We have been experiencing radio interference-- I don't know what it could be coming from."

"Could the Templars have found us, and be monitoring our movements?"

"The markers that usually accompany an infiltrating signal aren't present. It's something else." William sighed, gritting his teeth; it was even yet more uncertainty to add to their struggle.

"Whatever it is, does it interfere with your monitoring enough to derail it completely?" Rebecca shook her head. The confusion in her eyes was no comfort.

"It just comes through, glitching our signals for a few moments, and then it's gone."

"The next time it happens, let me know," William said.

Desmond couldn't shake the feeling that they were being _watched._ Every time he turned, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and no matter how much he wanted to equate it to going through the recovery of being burned by the sun-- the peculiar feeling never left him. He was starting to fear the muted blue glow of his dreams, though his exhaustion overcame any of his hesitance to sleep. If anything, he was grateful that they hadn't escalated into dreams that would leave him _screaming._

He stood, cursing himself yet again for how difficult it was. Desmond walked to one of the windows, easing himself onto the window-sill bench. He leaned his head against the glass, absentmindedly looking to the winter storm that raged outside. Something was stirring, and it had nothing to do with his inner sense of duty or vengeance, nor the weather that seemed to freeze the world that was supposed to burn.

"How are you feeling?" Connor's voice broke Desmond from his thoughts. He looked up, the ghost of a half-grin flashing across his face before if faded into exhaustion.

"Healing is slow. No matter how much I sleep, I still can hardly do anything but stay awake for a few hours at a time." _I'm useless._ He could _feel_ another war being waged-- whether it was the Assassin-Templar conflict, fought for centuries or an entirely new threat, Desmond couldn't say. Nonetheless, the inability he had to properly move and run and _fight_ made him antsy. 

"I am sorry."

"No, Connor." Desmond looked up. "Don't feel pity for me." _I'm the last person who deserves it._ Desmond saw the weathered and aged grief that lingered behind Connor's eyes. Such devotion Connor had throughout his life, and Desmond had only felt the same for a miniscule part of his own.  Even if he saved the world, he could do nothing for sorrows that happened in the past.

"Does your arm still ail you?" Connor didn't think he had ever seen someone in such pain, and though he scarcely knew the man in front of him, it filled him with a remorse that he hadn't felt since he'd experienced his own grievances. He had lived before Desmond Miles, and though it was impossible to say-- perhaps if he hadn't failed as he did, this _catastrophe_ would not have come to pass. Or perhaps, Desmond wouldn't have lived in the first place. Connor shook the thought from his head. Dwelling on such an untellable thing would get them nowhere, and time was so tricky that none could predict it. Except, perhaps, the beings in the Pieces of Eden. What had they to say about all of this?

"Yeah. It's getting better-- but how can you really predict how fast something that shouldn't even be happening will go?" Connor's brow furrowed.

"I do not know." Desmond shivered, a draft coming from the window permeating the wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself.

"This awful cold isn't helping anything, that's for sure." Connor offered a reconciliatory smile, yet cast a thoughtful gaze out the window. "Do you like the Winter,  Connor?" The man shifted on his feet, considering Desmond's question as he folded his arms.

"If the colder seasons did not cause such hard times for my people and the people of the colonies, I would like it more." Desmond smirked.

"Any particular reason why?"

"It has such beauty, and such harshness that it makes my duties both harder, and easier. They contradict one another,  but they also go hand in hand."

"How so?"

"Snow, when it is freshly fallen, is pure, shining, beautiful. In its brutal cold it makes everything harder-- hunting, moving, living, but through that struggle, it makes one feel the essence of life, which is to strive and fight for it. The cold also numbs, which is sometimes something that I wish for." Snow made the contrast of scarlet lifeblood stand out against pristine white and frozen snow-- killing was harder to cover up, and it was harder to stealthily climb through the trees without being detected, yet the cold froze death in moments; Connor did not have to bear the sour stench of iron or how it seeped onto his skin and clothes. It was important to feel the weight of killing, but sometimes, a reprieve was sorely needed.

"That's an interesting way of looking at it," Desmond replied, allowing himself a chuckle.

"What do you mean?"

"Usually people just either do or don't like it because of their reaction to cold." _I guess being an assassin_ _changes your perspective_. The cold reminded him that the Temple and the prophecies of Those Who Came Before were barely behind them. Desmond closed his eyes, trying to expel the thought.

"Hey, Connor."

"Yes?"

"I'm bored out of my mind, do you know how to play chess?" To Desmond's surprise, Connor shook his head as he looked up at the Colonial Assassin.

"Achilles never taught it to me." It was always fanorona or checkers, and when Connor had asked about learning the game, Achilles stated it was too much for old, bureaucratic men who thought they knew how to fight a war.

"Do you want to learn?" Connor nodded. Desmond stood, slowly. "Yusuf, where did you and Ezio leave the board?"

"In our bedroom." Connor nodded, offering to bring it for he and Desmond to play.

Once they had settled, Desmond started describing the pieces, unconsciously relating each of the pieces to ranks within the Brotherhood. He stopped at the pawn, turning it over in his hand and regarding it somberly. _What did a pawn have to go through to become a queen, a leader?_

Desmond couldn't help but feel like the chessboard was a battlefield. One side against another, both fighting for power, for control. Some would sacrifice their pawns, the lesser man for the greater good. What some didn't realize is that the pawn isn't the least powerful piece on the board-- it has little it can do, but it has freedom to do as it pleases; it could sacrifice itself if the need rose, or it could continue to be the most powerful piece on the battlefield: the queen. Transformation was always a shock, a blow none were expecting as if they were infiltrating from within. Such power to be granted to such a small individual would seem cruel.

He had chosen to save the world. That had to mean that he was no longer a pawn-- what more did he have to face? The prospect of even _more_ grief to come terrified him.

The game went by in a blur, Desmond wrapped in his own thoughts as he and Connor made their pieces dance around one another.

"Checkmate," Connor said, a slight disbelief underneath his expression.

"You learn fast. Nice job." Desmond offered a smile, before a yawn broke from the back of his throat. He rubbed his face, blinking to try to ward off his fatigue.

"Thank you, it is a fun game." Connor looked Desmond over. "Perhaps we can play it later, once you have rested."

"I'm sorry, Connor, I just..."

"You are recovering.  I understand how difficult it is-- sleep, and later we can resume our chess-playing." Desmond nodded, shaking his head to stave off the growing exhaustion. It was _pitiful_ how easily he tired. _Baby steps_ , is what he told himself. He'd be able to train soon enough-- Desmond just didn't know _how_  soon that "soon enough" was. He shuffled back to his room, bidding goodbye to the others before getting back into bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

William looked down the hallway after Desmond. The fact that he was up and moving around a _t all_ seemed like a positive thing-- yet it didn't stop the anxiety of _what if everything blows up before we, or_ he _is ready?_   

William sighed, starting for Desmond's room, when Malik came down the stairs and said,

"Rest, William. You have done so much for us, already. I will watch him." Malik turned the corner, walking toward Desmond's room as William nodded.

William turned to Shaun and Rebecca. He sat at the kitchen table in a huff.

"They're being very kind."

"Of course they would be, would there be a reason for them not to?" Rebecca turned, her eyebrows raised.

"I just don't understand it. They don't know us, yet they've been willing to follow us and help us when they don't even know what's going on around them."

"We're all part of the same Brotherhood-- fellow assassins help one another. Besides, Desmond and this entire situation may answer all of their questions about the Pieces of Eden and what the Precursors wanted of them."

"Perhaps. I'm grateful for it, in any case."

"How do you think Gavin and the others will react to them?"

"Well, if they're anything like William," Shaun cut in, "with guns. Or knives, if Gavin is as old-fashioned as he used to be."

 _"Shaun,"_ Rebecca snapped.

"They'd be right to be cautious, let's just hope they don't disagree to help us if they see what _should_ be impossible." William sat back in his chair, sighing. "How long until we can pack up and move toward the northern coastline?"

"I need to ensure that our signal for our equipment-- GPS, internet, radio waves-- is hidden enough so that we can use it while on the move. It's going to be particularly difficult, considering our limited resources, but I'm hoping that it will keep us hidden until we rendezvous with the _Altair II_."

"Is there any way we could go dark, leave the van here and take the car that was already here? It would save us a lot of hassle." Rebecca shook her head.

"There is too much stored in there-- processors with all of our current data running on them. We'd have to destroy the van so that it wouldn't be compromised. All the same, I'm not willing to give up all of that equipment and intel."

"Okay. What's our timeline, then?"

"These glitches are making things even more complicated, but based on our progress so far, it'll be another day or so until we can get going."

"Thank you, Rebecca."

"Just doing my job, Bill. But, you're welcome." Rebecca smirked, turning back to her computer.

"Shaun, what have you got?"

"I've been doing extensive research on different Pieces of Eden, the Precursors, and the like-- anything that could help clarify what exactly is going on."

"And?"

"I haven't uncovered a lot, but I came across something peculiar." Shaun beckoned William to his computer. "We're unable to canoodle around in Abstergo's servers from here, but the outskirts of their wireless network has led to some interesting findings."     

"Like what?"

"Old, discarded, corrupted files--but with some computer magic, I've been able to recover some things. Remember the Templars and their Philadelphia project?"

"Project Rainbow? The one where Nikola Tesla was rumored to be a Templar, funding their research to teleportation to the future?" Rebecca asked, eyes widening. William blinked.

"I vaguely remember the idea. Both Abstergo and the Assassins abandoned it, though. The lead to the Piece of Eden went dead with the experiment."

"Well, I think we should have looked closer. The Piece of Eden on the ship was said to be the power source-- it was damaged in the experiment. Since then, it's been in a secure holding facility."

"What does that have to do with..." _Oh._ "Haven't other Pieces of Eden been responsible for time travel, or things similar to it?"

"Not to such a magnitude. They've provided visions of the future, but not physical transportation."

"Hey, maybe Nikola Tesla was one of the Precursors, he had some pretty advanced ideas," Rebecca commented. Shaun rolled his eyes.

" _As I was saying_ ," Shaun continued, "maybe the Piece of Eden that Abstergo has locked up is our answer."

"How would Minerva and the others not know about it, then? And how does that explain Desmond being alive? Why would they bring back the ancestors, along with two of their closest friends?"

"The Precursors weren't solely Minerva, Juno, and Jupiter-- they were an entire _race._ It could be another Precursor we don't know about. Besides, the others could have known about it, and not told us. They haven't been _particularly_ trustworthy." William sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Keep digging. You may be on to something, but we won't know for sure until more support to the theory comes up, and we have better access to Abstergo's network." Shaun nodded, his eyes turning to his computer screen and his hand moving toward his cup of tea.

The glow of the computer screens brought out every harsh feature on Rebecca and Shaun's faces. They were exhausted, as were they all. William couldn't tell if they were on the verge of answers, or even more questions. In any case, they'd plod forward, as they always did.

Malik walked toward the end of the hall, easing the door open and stepping into Desmond's room. He settled in the chair next to the young man's bedside, never taking his eyes off of the assassin before him. Malik had never thought the Brotherhood would bring such--hardship, would he call it? They were on the run from both the Templars and a force none of them understood. Malik had thought it had ended with Altair and his Apple, but he realized with utter dismay that that was merely the _beginning_.

He and the others were Assassins, yet was the Brotherhood so changed by time that they would be considered outsiders? Though Shaun, Rebecca, and William were hospitable and kind, Malik still felt as though they were terribly out of place. The culture shock-- as Rebecca named it-- was overwhelming, and Malik wondered if they'd ever find their own places. He looked to the others from the 21st century in envy-- how could they be so _comfortable_ with everything around them? Every new sound and smell put Malik on edge, no matter how much he chastised Altair for showing anything of the sort.

Desmond opened his eyes slowly, jumping when his eyes met Malik's. He struggled to sit up as he spoke.

"Malik."

"Desmond." Malik folded his arms, his gaze hardening. He looked over Desmond again, sighing. "You may rest. I am only here to..."

"Watch over me, I know." Desmond let out a humorless chuckle. "Even though I've spent so much time with or a _s_ all of you, I still don't know what I can even say."

"Words are important, but they are not always necessary."

"I have a question, Malik."

"Yes?"

"Altair utilized the Apple, and lost himself to it, similar to the Bleeding Effect and me with the Animus. Did he ever get better?" Desmond knew so little of Altair's later years, the bits and pieces he gathered while he was in a coma were hardly enough to piece together the answers to the majority of his questions.

"You mean to ask if he ever stopped hallucinating and becoming an instrument of the Apple's power?" Malik swallowed. He berated the Grandmaster for his recklessness, toying with powers that mortal men should not ever know of-- yet his anger was also fueled from his worry of what it would do to the young Master.

"I do not know for sure, you'd have to ask him." Altair had _seemed_ to control the visions and power of the Apple, but with such a guarded persona, Malik could never really tell.

"I will." Desmond still wondered whether or not he would have to deal with the Bleeding Effect. Some days, it seemed he would crumble in the face of it, and he truly feared what would come of him, of them all if he succumbed.

"I have a question for you, Desmond." Desmond nodded.

"The Holy Land was waged in war when I left it-- from what I have seen and read so far, it seems that it is in the same condition."

"That's, uh... that's what I understand, yes." It was _difficult_ , telling someone that their home was still under the veil of war and death.

"The Crusades never ended?"

"The Crusades themselves, did. The reason the Middle East... the Holy Land is at war now is for different reasons." Were they so different? Religion, power-- politics. Desmond closed his eyes and sighed.

"There are so many different facets and levels of wars being fought, l don't even know if what I know is accurate. Propaganda and various sources are biased. Only people behind the scenes of anything know what's going on."

"Can the same be said for the war we fight? Between the Brotherhood and the Knights Templar?" Malik's cold glare was back. Desmond grit his teeth.

"That much hasn't changed-- the Templars seek control, the Assassins seek freedom. The only part that's uncertain is..."

"Those Who Came Before," Malik finished. Averting his gaze, Desmond nodded. "So nothing has changed."

"I guess not." Malik let out a long, drawn out breath, rubbing his hand over his face.

"What is it?"

"You are supposed to be our savior, the one who _changes_ something, and yet nothing you have done or what g _enerations_ of us have done has made a difference." Malik's words cut through him, striking every uncertainty and weakness he had. "We still fight the same war, and we always will. The Brotherhood fights for progress, yet comes upon none."

"That's what we're trying to change." Malik took a deep breath.

"I know, yet why are we here? What good will we do in the face of the impossible?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

"Is there no resolute answer to anything?" Desmond chuckled, despite himself. The irony was strong.

"I guess not."

***

Juhani hung up the phone as he said goodbye to Warren Vidic, and let out a frustrated breath as he looked up to the night sky. The stars shone, pinnacles in the sky that scattered across the globe. The abnormal aurora borealis had finally ended-- the northern lights had stretched for days after the alleged "end of the world." Juhani closed his eyes. The solar flares had stopped, but did the mystery behind them-- and now very far ahead of them ever end? His uncertainty aside, he had sworn himself to the Templars-- their cause was just.

Still, brainwashing and _bringing people back from the dead_ was something that was far over his head, and nothing he had expected as he rose to the rank of Master Templar. Juhani slipped his phone back into his pocket, rubbing a hand over his face. A small voice broke him from his thoughts.

 _"Daddy?"_ Juhani turned. His daughter, Maia stood at the edge of their porch, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "Why were you yelling, earlier?" Juhani cursed himself-- he'd gone outside in hopes of not disturbing his daughter, but his disbelief and confusion easily segued into hot anger toward Warren Vidic and his _playing god._

 _"I just had to talk with my boss, sweetie."_ Juhani's voice was soft as he walked toward the house, scooping Maia into his arms.

 _"Was your boss being mean?"_ Juhani chuckled, despite himself. Maia laid her head on his chest, hugging her arms over his shoulders and around his neck. Juhani lightly bobbed as she settled. She was growing so fast-- yet at three years, it still comforted her to be held and rocked.

 _"No-- we were just... it was a surprise to hear from him, is all. We didn't agree on some things."_ Juhani started to move toward the door, when Maia spoke up:

_"Daddy, can I stay up to watch the stars?"_

_"It's cold out, sweetie, you might get sick if you stay out for too long."_

_"But I brought my blankie, just for a little bit, please?"_ Juhani looked down to Maia, her big, green eyes staring up to him and making him melt a little. They were so much her mother's eyes, and the sweet, innocent girl was probably the best thing that Juhani had in his life.

 _"Just for a few minutes, Maia."_ Juhani turned, walking out from underneath the porch.

 _"Are you gonna be leaving again, Daddy?"_ Maia's words were muffled by Juhani's coat as she rested her face there. Juhani paused, looking down again to his daughter. She continued, "Whenever you talk to your boss, you leave."

 _"It's just going to be for a week or so,"_ Juhani said, his voice soft. _"I'll be back before you know it."_ Maia hugged him tighter.

_"I don't like it when you go away."_

_"I don't either, sweetheart-- but I have to do my job."_

_"Why can't I come with you?"_

_"Because..."_ How did he explain such a thing? A secret war was being fought between organizations on the very outskirts of society; there were men and women who were so deeply integrated into various underworlds, criminal and governmental alike, none of that knowledge was for a little girl to be exposed to. All the same, he couldn't _lie_ to his only child.

_"It's too dangerous and scary for sweet little girls."_

_"Your work made that owie on your face?"_ Maia reached up, placing her hand on Juhani's cheek-- a permanent reminder to him of _what_ exactly he was doing, _who_ he was fighting. Juhani nodded.

_"And that's why I would never want you to have to go through the same thing."_

_"I could be brave though, like you, Daddy. I could be strong and fight like you do."_ Maia's sentiment made Juhani chuckle, however it also tightened a knot of dread in his stomach.

 _"You have to stay here, or else no one can take care of Niko."_ Maia giggled, the thought of their German Shepherd puppy bringing a smile to her face. Juhani took the chance at Maia's distraction to turn toward the house, bringing her inside. He was nearly up the stairs of the porch when Maia said,

 _"Daddy look, it's a shooting star!"_ Juhani turned, looking to the sky. _"Make a wish at a shooting star, and it will come true!"_ Maia scrunched her face, making her wish. Juhani smiled.

His gaze wandered back to the sky, before closing his eyes and playing along. While Juhani was sure her wishes involved more furry animals around their house or maybe even _her father to stay home_ , Juhani's heart seemed to cry out to the stars: _Keep Maia safe, no matter what happens to me._

They also said that shooting stars were the spirits of loved ones, calling out from a different realm to those they left. His heart clenched when the image of his wife flashed in his mind. He didn't want to leave his daughter, _again_ , but he had a duty to uphold. Being a Templar was the right decision, and  Juhani would fight in a war-- perhaps so that one day Maia would never have to. May she never have to experience the pain and suffering of fighting and combat, see hatred, pain, and fading life from another person's eyes.

Maia had settled her chin on his shoulder, and in moments, she had fallen asleep. Juhani cradled her gently in his arms, heading for the house so he could put her to bed.

He kissed Maia's forehead as he tucked her into bed-- he worried for her. He walked a fine line between the non-existent father, and what his wife, Anita had wanted him to be for their daughter.

Juhani made sure the night light was on in Maia's room, before closing the door behind him without a sound. He sighed. He had to notify the nearby Templar teams of the _possible_ assassin vessel that left the Baltic Sea.

He picked up his laptop, walking down the stairs to their basement, opening a video chat, and calling the different leaders of the nearby teams.

The first person picked up the call, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and yawning.

 _"Jesus, Juhani, don't you ever sleep?"_ Juhani smirked, a mirthless glint in his eyes.

_"Mika. It's good to see you."_

_"And you as well, Berg. What's got you up at such an ungodly hour with a pressing need to have me up, too?"_  Juhani's eyes flicked to the other edge of his screen as the other team leader connected.

 _"Juhani."_ A female greeted him from the other end of the call.

_"Mika, Eeva, I have received orders from Abstergo Headquarters that you are to pursue the suspicious vessel that left Finnish waters earlier in the week."_

_"Are you on point for this pursuit?"_ Eeva spoke up, skepticism painting her face.

_"I've been instructed to travel to Headquarters, on Top Secret business. Inner Sanctum only."_

_"Very well, Juhani,"_  Mika agreed. Juhani admired his devotion, but his scarce attention to rhyme or reason was worrisome. Did he not want to know _why_ or _who_ they were getting orders from?

 _"I expect frequent updates. If anything comes up, I want to know."_  Juhani looked at his watch, grimacing as he realized that it would be sunrise in just a few hours.

 _"How soon will we be heading out?"_  Eeva tapped her fingers on her desk, seemingly impatient.

 _"Within the day. I have some personal matters to attend to before I leave for HQ today, but by nightfall I'll have full mission specs for you and your teams. Gather your people. I'll be in touch."_ Both Eeva and Mika nodded, and at their exchange of agreement, he ended the call.

Juhani sighed as the screen went dark. In the small hours of the morning, before Maia woke--the girl was quite the little early bird, a trait that was more from her mother than her father-- he'd have to take inventory of his supplies and prepare for the journey to Rome.

***

Juhani bit his nails as the phone rang on the other end of the line. He nervously glanced at the clock, the digital _8:45am_ shining back at him.

 _"Hello?"_ Someone answered.

_"Noora, good morning. It's Juhani."_

_"Are you going out of town again?"_

_"I got called out on work business. Can you watch over Maia and the house for a few weeks?"_

_"A few weeks? Juhani, how often are you going to be gone? It seems that every other week you're off on some other top secret job."_ Juhani cringed.

 _"I_ know _, Noora. My profession isn't exactly the type for impromptu 'take your child to work' days, though."_   There was silence on the other end of the line. The unspoken _'maybe you should find a new job, then-- for the sake of your child_ made Juhani tense.

 _"Are you available?"_ Juhani prompted.

_"What time would you like me to come over?"_

_"I have some errands to run today, so I'm thinking mid-afternoon, around three?"_

_"I'll be there."_

_"Thank you, Noora."_  Juhani  hung up the phone, turning as Maia came running up behind him. His face lit up at her excitement. He picked her up in his arms, hugging her to his chest.

 _"Good morning!"_ Maia exclaimed, hugging her father with all of the strength he little arms could.

 _"Good morning, sweetheart. Are you hungry, do you want breakfast?"_  Maia nodded, smiling up at him. He set her down at the table, walking over to their kitchen, with Niko at his heels. _"What would you like?"_

Juhani  managed to get Maia ready for the morning in under two hours, it always surprised him how much work it took to get her dressed, her mess of curly blond hair brushed, or how long it took for him to urge her away from Niko and tell her that _no, he can't come to the grocery store with us_.

They needed to stock up on food, and it was the least he could do for the person who put up with him leaving so often, and for so long.

Juhani pulled into the store's parking lot, wary of anything out of the ordinary. He opted to carry Maia into the store with him, stopping when they came to the carts at the front of the store.

 _"Daddy, I want to ride in one of those!_ " Maia pointed to a cart with a mock-car on the front of the cart, where children could ride and pretend that they were driving themselves. Juhani sighed, preemptively accepting that it would be the worst idea he had ever had, but he could do no less than humor his daughter.

 _"Alright_ , s _weetie."_ Maia squealed with delight, all but jumping out of Juhani's arms and into the cart.

Shopping for groceries had never been so difficult. The cart they chose was impossible to steer-- more than once, Juhani nearly took out a display of merchandise. He allowed himself a breath of relief when he finished.

 _"Have a great day, sir."_ The checker smiled. Juhani nodded in thanks, before guiding Maia beside him and taking his cart from the line. Maia ran ahead of him, giggling at some unknown thing. Juhani smiled, wondering if there was a way to preserve a child's innocence.

In his musing, Juhani didn't see the display in front of him, running the already-impossible-to-steer cart into it. The entire store seemed to pause and look at the source of the c _rash_. Juhani could feel his face reddening as he felt so many eyes on him. In a huff, he grabbed his groceries and jogged to catch up to Maia. With all of the surveillance Abstergo had on what seemed the _entire world_ , Juhani desperately hoped they hadn't bugged that particular grocery store. His being a Master Templar would very likely be revoked if anyone had seen him _unable to work a grocery cart_.

At three in the afternoon, Noora pulled into Juhani's driveway-- Niko ran up to her as Juhani opened the door to greet her.

 _"Juhani."_  They embraced, a worried look painting Noora's face. _"You look exhausted."_

_"I didn't sleep last night. Work related business, it's nothing. Thank you for doing this so last-minute."_

_"It's no problem. Just... call every now and then, will you? Maia misses you terribly when you're gone."_

_"I know. I will."_ Juhani nodded, looking down as he felt Maia latch onto his leg.

 _"Daddy, please don't go!"_ Maia was in tears. A lump formed in Juhani's throat; he had to force himself not to relent and tell Vidic to _find someone else_. He knelt beside Maia, taking her face gently in his hands.

_"I have to, Maia. I'm sorry-- I love you more than anything in the entire world, but I have to go. I have work to do, so that you and Niko can be safe. Remember how you said you could be strong, and brave? I need you to do that now. Daddy will come home as long as you do that."_

_"I can't do that without you."_

_"You can, no matter what you do, you'll always be brave, and strong, Maia."_ Maia let out another cry, before running into Juhani's arms, wailing with another round of tears. Juhani held her there for a moment, steeling himself for his mission ahead.

 _"I have to go."_  Juhani looked up to Noora. With a rueful glare, Noora nodded, putting a hand on Maia's shoulder.

 _"Come, little one. How have your stuffed animals been doing?"_ It took all of his will power to pull away from Maia's embrace, the child still crying as she was led by Noora into the house. Juhani ran a hand through Niko's fur, before standing and waving goodbye to his daughter and Noora, who ended up by the window as he left.

Juhani turned and made for his car, holding back tears as he tore himself from his home. The Templars called, and he had no other choice but to answer.

The Abstergo teams met him shortly after he had left home. They greeted each other with hardened eyes and curt nods, the majority of their debriefing already done. They knew what they needed to do.

 _"You have your teams ready?"_ Juhani regarded Mika and Eeva, looking to the groups of people behind them. They all looked so _determined._ Juhani idly wondered if they'd be so ready to support the Templars if they knew what he did. _They didn't make you a Master Templar unless you earned it_ ; it led Juhani to think that some of them would back out. For them, being a Templar was no more than being a soldier or fighting for a cause they believed in. He wished that he still felt the same way.

 _"Yes. Just when are you going to tell us what all this is about?"_ Eeva spoke up, crossing her arms.

_"Like I said, it's classified. You are to find and tail the vessel to find out where it's headed. If you see any sign of the Assassins, you are to report back to me."_

_"I don't like it, Juhani."_

_"Like it or not, those are our orders, and I expect you to follow them,"_ Juhani growled.

 _"What equipment do you have for us?"_ Mika questioned, changing the subject. Juhani leaned to grab the two cases at his feet, each containing the proper devices for monitoring and keeping communications open between themselves without being detected.

_"These devices are run through an encrypted channel-- any outgoing or incoming transmissions will be under its cover. It has a very long detection radius, so there should be no excuse to not stay under cover. There's a lot of open sea once they hit the Atlantic, assuming that's where they're headed."_

_"What if we do happen to get detected?" Eeva questioned._ Juhani's eyes narrowed. _"For all we know, it could be a trap-- or we could slip up, we're only human. What if they open fire on us?"_ Juhani crossed his arms, sighing.

 _"If they see you,_ and _attack-- fight them with everything you have."_       

***

William paced as he finished preparing the van. It would be at least a few more days until they could leave, but it never hurt to be prepared.

"Bill, if you keep doing that, you'll wear a rut in the floor," Shaun said. William stopped, sighing. "It also won't make this go any faster."

"I know, I just-- the longer we wait, the more vulnerable we become."

"Well, we'll be even more vulnerable if we don't plan ahead, so I'd rather cool my heels beforehand."

William jumped as a short cry and a dull _thump_ sounded from the bathroom. He bolted around the corner, heart stopping as he saw Desmond curled into a tight ball-- his knees pulled to his chest and his face buried in them-- on the floor in front of the sink. As William approached, he realized Desmond was shaking, _whimpering_. He knelt at Desmond's side, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"Desmond, what is it?" Desmond's head snapped up, eyes frantic. William could barely make out Desmond's words beyond his desperate mumblings, other than a repeated plea that had him at a loss.

"Cut it off, just cut it off."

"Cut what off? Desmond, look at me." William took both of Desmond's shoulders in his hands, trying to make eye contact. When his attempts failed, William wrapped Desmond in his arms, hoping his embrace would help ward off his son's panic.

"Bill, what's going on?" Shaun came around the corner, freezing when he saw William and Desmond on the bathroom floor.

"It's... fine Shaun, he just-- I don't know, but he's not hurt."

"Do you need me to do anything?"

"Get some water." Shaun nodded, turning to make his way to the kitchen for a glass. It was a few more moments before Desmond stopped shaking, his breathing falling into a more normal rhythm. He broke from William's embrace.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I just..."

"What's wrong?" Desmond paused, casting a confused gaze to William. There was actually _sympathy_ in his father's cold, silvery eyes, and Desmond was at a loss as to how to deal with it. "Desmond? What happened?" William put a hand on Desmond's shoulder. He sighed, looking away.

"I saw my reflection. My face."

"I don't think I understand." Desmond let out a breath that was almost, _almost_ a scoff. He raised a hand to his face, his fingers quivering as they brushed over the hair that had started to grow there.

"When Minerva showed me who I'd be if I...didn't activate the Eye-- and I lived-- I was the leader of everyone who had survived the catastrophe. In that vision, I was older, and had had a beard. It sounds _ridiculous_ , but I saw that person when I saw myself in the mirror. I don't ever want to be...that, Dad. I'd rather die first." _I did die first._ "I'm sorry." Desmond struggled to his feet, William holding his arm to assist him.

"I'll get you a razor." William put a hand on Desmond's shoulder, as the latter kept his eyes trained on his feet, taking a deep breath. _Some savior I am._ Desmond wondered if he _truly_ wasn't the person who Minerva showed him if he lived. The person who let would let _billions_ die and play god in the hopes of rebuilding and reformation.

Desmond shook his head. He wouldn't go down that path-- he'd saved the world. _I saved the world._ The reassurance was repeated in his psyche over and over again, yet it did little to comfort him. He felt no success or sense of accomplishment. He was alive and _nothing made sense_. He was still so _tired_ and _weak_ and it tore at him from a thousand different directions.

Shaun pulled him out of his introspection with a gentle nudge. He held a glass of water out to him.

"You should make sure you're hydrated."

"Thanks." Desmond nodded, taking the glass of water in his hand and straightening. A forced silence sat between them as Desmond sipped the water, leaning against the bathroom counter.

"Are we any closer to finding out what's going on?" Desmond asked, smirking at how the historian uncomfortably shifted on his feet. Shaun shook his head.

"Even scouring what feels like the entire _world_ , there's nothing on the Precursors that could help us."

"But they--the ancestors-- are _here_ , they're solid, living, and out of their own times. I'm not just imagining it?"

"It's been weeks, and you're still thinking of that?"

"I guess I'm kind of hoping-- it would make things a little easier for us to handle, I'd imagine." Shaun's expression softened.

"They're not ghosts, Desmond. No matter what, they'll stay that way."

"I know." Desmond set the glass down, instead putting his hand over his face. "I'm just..." He sighed. "If the Bleeding Effect comes back-- how will I discern them from each other? I came to learn that they were hallucinations, and now they're _real_." _And I'm tattered and broken, and I'm not_ strong enough _for this._

"I wouldn't know, mate. I'm sure you'll figure something out," Shaun offered.

"Thanks, Shaun." William came around the corner, holding out a razor and shaving cream to Desmond. He took them in his hand, staring at how the blade shone in the dim bathroom light. He huffed.

Desmond turned, avoiding catching his own eye in the mirror. Applying the shaving cream over the scruff of a beard that had managed to grow in the past week or two,  he caught a whisper between Shaun and his father. Desmond turned, looking to Shaun, who still stood in the doorway-- his father was nowhere in sight.

"Bill told me to keep an eye on you." Desmond only nodded, his eyes falling. Shaun internally cringed. Even though the man was up and about, there was still a--Shaun couldn't quite place it-- _dejectedness_ to the way he carried himself, the way he interacted with the others. It wasn't quite submission, but it was far from the brash and raunchy bartender who'd come into Abstergo's hands just a few months before.

Any anger that he had harbored since Lucy's death--at Desmond for killing  her? For his own uncertainty and inability to stop any of it? That they'd lost yet another friend?-- had vanished, it seemed. Desmond had never meant for anything bad to happen; he was too kind for that. He always had been, and Shaun had only seen it when all of the walls Desmond had been forced to put up to protect himself were torn down.

Shaun's eyes darted to the man in front of him as the latter emitted a hiss, dropping the razor and putting a hand to the side of his face. He sighed.

"If you insist on ignoring your reflection like the plague, let me help you. Shaving is hard enough with one hand, let alone blind" Shaun moved forward, offering a hand. Reluctantly, Desmond handed the razor to Shaun, who beckoned him to sit on the counter.

"Shaun..."

"Hold still." Shaun offered nothing else, only briefly making eye contact before averting his gaze to the task at hand. It seemed ages before either of them spoke again.

"You know, I think a beard would suit you, makes a person look a little more--mature, adult like." Desmond scoffed.

"Says the man who hasn't grown any facial hair since he was a teenager." Shaun frowned.

"It was a _phase_. I retract my original statement. It makes _some_ people look more like an adult, it  made me look like a sasquatch." Desmond snorted.

"Did the mighty Shaun Hastings just admit to _not_ being a dashing young man at any point?" Desmond smirked. Shaun's tension loosened for a moment. _This_ Desmond was what he was used to. Perhaps it would be back permanently one day.

"If you try to tell anyone, I will deny everything." Shaun put the razor down, beckoning Desmond to marvel at his handiwork. Desmond lowered himself gingerly to the floor. He turned toward the mirror, tentatively glancing up at himself.

He still felt the ghost of who he was-- had that really been _anything_ \-- but the face who stared back at him was his own, and something to grasp onto. He forced a smirk on his face, turning to Shaun.

"Thanks, Shaun." He ran a hand through his hair, now an unkempt mop compared to how short it had been. "Now how do you feel about giving haircuts?" Shaun turned away, a horrified expression on his face.

"No. How long has it been since you showered?"

"I assure you the others went for _far_ longer than I ever have." Desmond called to him as he walked away. He turned back to his reflection. _Familiarity,_ that was a good thing. It was one step closer to becoming himself again.

***

Another day passed, and the anticipation of the middle ground between being _sitting ducks_ and actually _on the move_ put each one of them on edge. Desmond sat with Connor on the couch, while William shuffled across the kitchen-- again, and again. The other ancestors lingered around the room-- Ezio and Yusuf talked between themselves, as did Malik and Altair.

"Bill, it's happening again, the glitches." William turned, eyes narrowing at Rebecca's computer screen. Desmond stood, curious as to what Rebecca meant.

His eyes widened, the distorted screen an echo of something so _familiar_. The sequences that appeared between lines of code were of the Apple, of the Precursors, and the glitches radiated their power. Desmond's mind made the connection between his dreams and the force that jammed Rebecca's signals faster than he realized. In the time it took electrical impulses to transfer between synapses in the brain, Desmond connected to the unknown entity that stinted their progress.

Such power he had felt before, yet now, there was something hidden behind it that he couldn't grasp. Desmond nearly had it when he felt something _push back_ \-- the world slowed and muted around him, and a flash of gold sent a dagger of pain through his head.

William turned as Desmond collapsed, his eyes alight with an otherworldly blue before they rolled back in his head. Connor was quick to act, catching Desmond as he fell, laying him gently to the ground. William darted to Desmond's side, his fear and panic spiking.

"Desmond?" William put one hand on Desmond's shoulder, shaking it in an attempt to rouse him. He checked for a pulse, only somewhat relieved when he felt a fluttering heartbeat. He lifted one of Desmond's eyelids. "He's out. What the _hell_ was that?" William turned his head toward Rebecca, who had stood and approached him and Desmond.

"I have no idea." Rebecca held her arms out as her eyebrows raised in confusion.

"We have to leave, now." William turned back to Desmond. He let out a huff of guarded relief when he saw the latter's eyelids flutter. Desmond's voice was soft as he took in a quick breath and said:

"It's the Temple, Dad. I'm connected with it, somehow." Desmond sat up, hissing as an unexpected wave of pain hit him-- he held his burned arm to his chest and threw his left back to steady himself.

"Easy, Desmond." William put a hand behind Desmond's back, helping him ease himself to his feet. He led Desmond to a nearby chair, worrying at how pale he'd become.  "What happened?"

"That... _thing_ , on Rebecca's computer screen, it has something to do with the Temple." Desmond's shoulders slumped, his eyes conveying utter exhaustion.

"How do you know?" William pulled up a chair, sitting next to his son.

"I've--I've been having dreams, Dad. Nothing specific, but what just happened, was some sort of _connection_. There's more power behind what's happening than what we've seen so far; I'm somehow a part of it." _What made him so important to the precursors?_

"What does that even mean?" Shaun crossed his arms, torn between scorn and worry.

"It wants something from me-- I don't know what, but it would probably help answer some, if not all of our questions." William's jaw set, making a decision.

"We're leaving."

"But Dad," Desmond  started. The Precursors and whatever they were up to _terrified_ him, but without action, they'd get nowhere.

"I said we're leaving-- Gavin's already headed our  way, and we need to be ready for him." _The faster they could get away from the Temple, the better._

"Don't you want to figure out what's happening?"

"You _just_ got back on your feet, Desmond. We don't know what this power is, the last thing we should do is meddle in it."

"It's the very thing we s _hould_ do if we want to stop Juno!"

"The Precursors and their plans aside, we have a very concrete and very _real_ threat coming if we don't move," Shaun interjected. "I'm all for progress and discovery as well, but we need to drop off the grid for a while if we want to fight."

"I agree with Shaun," Connor said.

"As do I," Altair added. The others stood in a silent agreement.

"Fine, then. We should go." Desmond stood, his legs still quivering. That _thing_ had drained a lot of the little energy he had left. William offered a hand to him and nodded.

"Let's pack up." He looked to the clock. "I want us on the road by nightfall. Rebecca, do you have coordinates for a secure location to meet Gavin?"

"There's not a spot along the coast that has zero government control, believe it or not-- but there is a place I found where we can slip through their coverage-- I think Gavin and his crew would be able to pull into the dock without any incident. I'll send him the location." William nodded. They would be on the move soon. Despite the stakes they were up against, it was all William could do to hope that their apparent luck wouldn't run out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand that is my very belated fanfiction update! I had intended to update it much sooner, but I'm a slow poke and I got caught up with work and Thief-related things (I wrote a little thief fic, if you're interested) 
> 
> For all intents and purposes, I had SO much wanted to introduce Gavin and the others aboard the Altair II in this chapter, but I got excited about developing Juhani's character, so that took a lot more of the chapter than I had thought it would, and then I figured that it would be far too long of a chapter if I had written on to have Desmond and the gang meeting Gavin, so I'm afraid that will have to wait for a little bit.
> 
> Also, I suppose the scene with Juhani in the grocery store seems a little out of place, but since I've been working in a grocery store for the Summer, it fills me with joy to imagine a very LARGE Finnish man who is also a mercenary-Master Templar taking care of his wee little daughter and also being flustered by the very tedious children's carts that have the little car-like things on them. (I don't know if they have those in Finland, but I figured for the sake of that scene I could fudge the facts a little).
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this new chapter, and as always, I appreciate everyone who is reading!


	8. The Dawn and the Dusk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *VERY FAST BREATHING* Hello fellow earthrealm dwellers, I've been off the face of the a03 world for quite some time now-- I've started and finished another semester at university, I've gotten into Mortal Kombat, Hawaii Five-0, and most recently Assassin's Creed: Rogue which deSTROYED ME LET ME TELL YOU 
> 
> The point is, I've been very busy, with very little time even for necessities such as sleep and food, and I apologize for the ridiculously long time between updates (as persistent as I am, I am also disorganized, and apparently one is supposed to have update/haitus schedules etc. but why would I be that prepared?)
> 
> But anyway, I'll leave most of the talking for the end of the chapter, I hope you enjoy it!

The relentless snow stopped and cleared, if only to allow the assassins the chance to view the sun setting as they packed up the van. Golden and scarlet mixed with the gray that covered over half the sky, creating an ominous veil of a growing chromatic darkness. The group exchanged few words, except to guide one another in assisting their departure. Desmond sat on the porch, his jaded gaze staring into nothing. _Or everything_.

He couldn't shake the-- _connection?--_ that he'd experienced. As the adrenalin wore off, his resolve to figure out what _it_ was faded as well. Desmond had slept, after that-- only a few hours, but a fitful sleep that had left him with desperately vivid images to haunt him as he woke.

Desmond shivered--the cold and his fear chilling him to his core. He wrapped his arms around himself tighter; the heavy wool sweater he was wearing only doing so much against the cold, much less the wind.

"You should wear a jacket," William's voice sounded behind him. Desmond looked up. The domineering set of his posture was betrayed by the worry in his eyes.

"I'm not five, Dad."

"Child or not, you're going to catch something if you stay out in the cold for too long."

"Well, for one thing, I'd still have my hoodie to keep me warm if it hadn't been reduced to shreds." William grit his teeth.

"You may not be five, but you're still grumpy when you're tired." _You were on the brink of death-- if you ever have a child, you'll know that kind of pain._ "What's the fixation on that damned hoodie, anyway? It's an inanimate object _,_ Desmond. There are more important things to concern yourself with." Desmond looked up to William, a childish-- yet strangely weathered defiance in his eyes. He was about to speak, when he reconsidered his words. He sighed.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I just-- ever since I've woken up, I've felt like an outsider in my own skin. I know things won't ever return back to 'normal', whatever that means... but little things can help me feel like the person I used to be. Not the-- 'deadbeat bartender,' as you so gracefully put it... but _Desmond Miles._ " _Maybe I'm still trying to figure out who that is, too._

William glanced between the others near the van, and his son, finally opting to sit on the porch. He was so _bad at this._

"I heard the recordings on your phone..." An unexpected lump formed in William's throat. "You knew." Desmond only nodded. "You knew and you didn't tell anyone? Even... bring up the idea?"

"Do we even have to talk about this? It's done, Dad. I didn't die, and now we're in this mess." Desmond's mouth was pulled into a tight line, an unreadable gaze coming over his face. William wondered when Desmond had acquired the ability to turn his expression into stone. It had always been a palette for whatever Desmond was feeling, an open book that William could always utilize. Mainly for criticism-- _the emotion on your face will be your undoing, Desmond_ , William had said, in the hopes of _toughening_ the soft edges that could so easily fray and unravel, leaving nothing but a tattered mess behind.

"We could have altered our course-- found another way before it was too late." Desmond offered no response, only fixing his gaze on the ground below his feet.

"I denied it for the longest time," Desmond finally spoke. His voice was quiet, a soft rumble against the wind howling through distant pine trees. "I thought-- that it was just me overreacting because of the stress of the Bleeding Effect and the Coma and Lucy's death and Connor's memories." Desmond paused, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if he were only speaking to himself.

"Maybe I wanted it to end that way." William's chest clenched. He wanted so much to be able to ask, _Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you talk to me?_

"You wanted to die?" When Desmond didn't retort-- with a rueful gaze or a wise-ass remark, Willaim's eyes started to water. He looked away.

"I would be lying if I said that I didn't once or twice between September and now. At the end, though... I wanted it to end how it _should_ have. The world couldn't stand to have such an endless cycle of manipulation and misunderstanding and zeal because of the twisted words of someone long since passed-- not again. The world needed to continue forward, as it always did-- so that it _could_ change. If I needed to die to make that happen, I wasn't going to deny it. I didn't know that Minerva would offer me my life in exchange for the world's. We opened the Temple, as Juno said-- whatever we found, it would have been the only way."

William sat in awe-- he'd seen Desmond change, from the boy who ran away from the Farm, to one who had been beaten and weathered for years he should never have lived-- to that moment they sat together.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I knew you wouldn't let us go through with it, if you figured out what the endgame was. That's also why I left you those messages on my phone-- so you wouldn't blame yourself, and that you would know that your efforts were never in vain."

William's eyes were wet, but even then it didn't stop him from locking them with Desmond's. Tangled were the emotions of grief and a strange sort of disbelieving pride; William didn't know what to say in the face of it.

Desmond looked away; seeing tears in his father's eyes was uncomfortable at best.

"Hey, Dad... don't cry," Desmond attempted. _I was never worth your tears, anyway._ "I'm alive, and that's all that matters." William looked away, sighing before he rose to his feet. He cast his gaze to the others hovering around the van.

"It looks like we're almost ready to go. I'll see if I can find you a jacket." William put a hand on Desmond's shoulder for a moment, before walking into the cabin.

Desmond shook his head as his father walked away, his jaw clenching at their failed heart-to-heart. Whether they needed one, or not-- it didn't seem something William was very capable of. Desmond scoffed; that much had been obvious since he was a child. Now, it was different-- Desmond could tell his father was _trying_ \-- it had to count for something.

Rebecca walked up to Desmond, holding up a protein bar as he looked up. She unwrapped it, handing it to him with a warming smile on her face.

"Hey, Des. I figured you could use one of these."

"Thanks, Rebecca." Desmond took the protein bar, taking a tentative bite before slowly working it between his teeth.

"How are you feeling, since the whole, you know..." Rebecca waved her hands in front of her, in what Desmond assumed to be the representation of whatever was interfering with her computer.

"Tired. Although, I'm afraid that's going to be a permanent personal trait of mine before long." Desmond smirked, pulling a hesitant chuckle from Rebecca. Her eyes were downcast with worry-- he wished that they didn't have to be.

"I'm alright... still healing, as far as I can tell. Nothing is triggering... whatever that was before. When I was sleeping, my dreams were more-- vivid, or desperate, I don't know how to describe it. I still can't remember them." Rebecca only nodded, turning Desmond's words over in her mind.

"I'm glad to hear you're doing alright. Hopefully, leaving Turin will be enough of a chance to regroup and recharge." She crossed her arms, leaning against one of the porch's posts.

"I hope so." The constant prickling and burning that came from Desmond's burned arm was making him anxious, if it was possible to be more so. He wanted it to _heal_ \-- he wanted Yusuf to recover and for them not to be in the middle of nowhere so they could set up a defense and _fight_. Perhaps he was as childish as his father said-- patience and _luck_ were the only things they had to hold on to.

Desmond saw the others around the van-- seeing them all _together_ was even stranger than seeing them physically standing in front of him. He couldn't help but imagine fractured pieces of time at the edges of their auras-- all converging and grating in a way that _shouldn't be_. Rebecca must have noticed the catch in Desmond's breath, or the way his eyes widened in an all-telling fear, for she moved in front of him, blocking his view of the ancestors.

"Hey, Desmond. Look at me." Rebecca crouched, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're okay, and as of right now, the world's not going to crumble around us. Everything is okay."

_No it's not. I can feel it, Rebecca. No matter how far we run, nothing is okay._

Before Desmond could speak, Ezio and Yusuf walked up to the porch. Yusuf smiled as he made eye contact. Rebecca only offered a reconciliatory smile to Desmond, before turning and remarking to Yusuf,

"You're really getting the hang of those things." She gestured to the crutches Yusuf used to support his weight. His shoulders slumped in spite of them.

"That may be so, but I cannot wait to be rid of them." Ezio scoffed at Yusuf's statement. It was almost _endearing_ to see the normally warm and jovial man so flustered.

"When we get to the _Altair II_ , they'll be able to better treat your injury and offer more recovery options. Right now, this is the best we've got." Yusuf smiled.

"Nonetheless, I appreciate your care."

"Shaun wanted us to tell you that the van's ready, whenever you all are," Ezio said.

"I'll tell William."

"He went inside to try to find me a jacket," Desmond said. Rebecca moved toward the door. As she reached for the handle of the door, William opened it.

"I think he found one," Rebecca said. Bundled in William's arms was a large down jacket.

"No," Desmond's voice deadpanned. William stopped, scowling.

"It'll keep you warm."

"It'll also keep half the country warm."

"Would you like to be fashionable, or not freeze to death?"

"Can't I do both?" Desmond rose to his feet, trying to quell the shaking in his legs with his attempts at humor. William sighed, draping the jacket over Desmond's shoulders and gesturing toward the van. Rebecca, Ezio, and Yusuf turned and did the same.

Yusuf stopped, awkwardly scooping the snow that had been left undisturbed into one hand, before regaining his balance.

_"Hey, Ezio."_ Ezio stopped, turning to face Yusuf with a wary gaze. In the time it took him, Yusuf managed to compact the snow in his hands, and toss it at the Mentor's face with little more than a _'think fast!'_ to warn him. Ezio moved to dodge the snowball by reflex, yet the ground below him was slick with snow that had been melted and tread upon to make slush. The snowball ungraciously hit the side of his face; the ungainly surface beneath him took away his balance.

Ezio spat out snow as he sprawled on the ground, snow clinging to his beard. Rebecca and Desmond snorted, Yusuf joining in their laughter as the Mentor regained his feet.

" _What was that for?"_ Ezio demanded, though the chuckle he held back was far from subtle.

_"I would have thought you'd have a better counter-attack,_ il mentore _."_

_"Oh, I'll show you a 'counter-attack'..."_ Ezio stooped to gathering up a snowball of his own, hurling it at Yusuf before the man could duck away. The Turkish assassin would have a snow-beard to match.

William urged them forward with an exasperated sigh.

"Let's get moving."

Shaun stood, shivering next to the driver's side door of the van.

"I _do_ hope you all plan on being actual adults and getting in the van."

"Come on, Shaun. Have a little fun once and a while," Desmond retorted. Yusuf put a hand on the latter's shoulder with a grin.

"Desmond speaks words of truth, Shaun," Yusuf offered. Shaun only let out a frustrated huff, a plume of steam left in his wake-- he turned, readying to haul himself up to the driver's seat. Rebecca walked around to the passenger seat, mumbling what seemed to be a mock interpretation of their resident historian.

Desmond came to the back of the van, pausing. The step into the back shouldn't have been difficult-- but after the entire day and the cold ever-presently seeping into Desmond's limbs, it felt a mountain before him. He looked up as Connor called his name, offering a hand for assistance. He gratefully accepted, surprised at how easily Connor lifted him into the van. Had he really become _that_ light?

Connor offered the same help to Yusuf, who beamed at the man as though he were the life force of the world. The man who reveled in human contact was being obliged by he who coveted it as a special gesture, only to be shared by friends.

Desmond settled on a bench, leaning his head against the wall. Exhaustion pulled at him, as waves of warmth from the van's heating started to thaw him from the cold. The vast confines of his jacket felt more and more comfortable.

The van roaring to life startled Desmond from a doze, yet he didn't linger in consciousness for long. He found a shoulder next to him, and with it, came sleep.

"Desmond?" William questioned, a sudden worry coming over him as Desmond's eyes shut and his head rested on Connor's shoulder. He moved forward-- his eyes must have conveyed his concern, for

"He is asleep," came a whisper that William could only relate to someone tending to a sleeping child. He remembered the memories of Connor's that Desmond had relived in the Animus. William wondered how someone could have such a degree of brutality, and still be so kind. Perhaps it was in the nature of their cause-- kind hearts committing hardened deeds. William shook his head. Anyone who killed for a living didn't _get_ to be kind-hearted. He looked within himself as an example of just that.

It crossed his mind that maybe-- _just maybe_ \-- _he_ was the outlier in regards to the relative kindness of the human soul. Maybe it was that William himself was unnaturally cold, his bitterness and lifetime of pushing his emotions and compassion aside causing him to alienate himself from the rest.

Sometimes he'd wonder whether or not he was still _human_ \-- and then he'd think of Desmond laughing at the notion, telling William that he sounded like _him_. The thought had brought a scowl to his face when Desmond was training, because he had to learn to be _serious._ When Desmond had run away, his joking attitude had brought tears to William's eyes, and now the thought just-- broke him.

William shook his head. Self-pity would get them nowhere. A withering mask came over his face again. He nodded to Connor, climbing up to the front between Rebecca and Shaun.

"Do we have a plan?" Shaun did a double-take.

"Usually it's _you_ who has the plan, William."

"All I know is that we need to get to Gavin. Rebecca, how long will it take us to get to the coordinates you sent to the _Altair II_?"

"About eight hours, if we're driving straight through. There's a place along the Maine coast that should provide a smooth rendezvous."

"The snow's picking up again," Shaun commented.

"We need to stay off the major roads, at least until we're out of New York."

"Ah, so our time will be doubled," Shaun sighed.

"One step at a time, Hastings," said Rebecca, pulling out a laptop and booting it up.

"Have you set a route for our destination?" William asked.

"Yep, we're all ready to go, it's just up to Shaun to keep us on course." Rebecca smirked, nudging Shaun on the shoulder.

William nodded, moving backwards and taking a seat in the back of the van. A bone-chilling silence came between all of them, the only thing breaking it the dull _hum_ and _roar_ of the van's motor.

Altair clenched his teeth, the rumble that surrounded them put him on edge.

_"What troubles you, Altair?"_ Malik nudged Altair with an elbow.

_"This machine. Such sounds I have only heard when waging war."_

"I hate to break it to you Altair, but we're kind of in the middle of one." Rebecca turned from the front seat, offering equal condolence and sarcasm. Altair's face conveyed nothing, only the clench of his jaw as he nodded, turning away and returning his gaze to the floor.

"Do not worry, _mentore_. I have witnessed war machines forged by the great Leonardo da Vinci himself. This is not one of them," Ezio offered.

"Although, it probably was one of the foundations that led to the invention of the automobile," Shaun added. "His invention of the self-propelled cart was certainly along those lines."

The van went over a bump, lifting all of them from their seats for a brief moment.

" _You are_ not _helping."_ Altair gripped the edge of the bench, gritting his teeth. Malik sighed, reaching to put a hand on Altair's shoulder.

_"I do not think it is the idea of war that is burdening you so."_

" _Moving so fast, with so little knowledge of where we are going or what we face outside of these metal walls is disconcerting, to say the least."_

"Sounds like Altair has a little carsickness." Rebecca smirked, her brow raised in concern. Shaun let out an exasperated sigh.

"Just... if you _do_ feel the need to vomit back there, please do so in a bucket. One of those, we can throw away-- cleaning up stomach expulsions from the floor of the van is disgusting, undignifying, and quite frankly, _absurdly_ difficult," Shaun spouted. Altair responded with nothing but a slightly mortified look on his face. William put a hand over his face as Rebecca suppressed a snort. She looked to Shaun, before putting a hand on his shoulder.

"More driving, less talking, Hastings."

"Agreed," William said.

"Ezio, you speak much of Leonardo Da Vinci, however I'm afraid we have not had the chance to learn much of him," said Malik, genuine curiosity painting his face. To this, Yusuf answered before Ezio could get a word in.

"You've not heard of the great Da Vinci of the High Renaissance? Ezio was practically brothers with the man."

"Was he an Assassin?" Malik's brow furrowed.

"Very far from it, actually." Ezio regarded Altair and Malik, before elbowing Yusuf in the side. _"They're centuries older than us, they probably don't even know what the Italian Renaissance was."_

"There was nothing that came from the Apple of Eden that led to the concept? It showed them Desmond Miles."

"The Apple does not tell one everything." Altair locked eyes with Yusuf, his voice short.

"Leonardo Da Vinci? The creator of the flying machine?" Connor interjected, his voice soft and tentative to be interrupting the others' conversation. Ezio's eyes lighted.

"You know of his inventions?" Connor nodded.

"Someone on the Homestead I live in found old plans and writings of his. He managed to recreate the flying machine-- he insisted that I try it by flying it off of one of the cliffs that surround our harbor."

"How did you fare?" Yusuf asked. His eyes flickered between Ezio and Connor, either man intent on the other.

"It crashed."

"Or rather, _you_ crashed it," Malik offered. Connor could feel the heat of embarrassment  flush on his face.

"It was insufficient to fly," Connor defended himself. Ezio chuckled at Connor's disgruntlement.

"The trick is, you have to use fire. The hot air keeps it in flight."

"Funny, how Leonardo didn't think to write that in his diagrams," Shaun mused.

"He was probably busy. Italy wasn't going to enlighten itself," Rebecca countered.

"Leonardo Da Vinci was not the only man who contributed to the Renaissance, Rebecca."

"Still, it was a major aspect of his work on the project-- there wasn't even a mention of fire in his diagrams-- that's just bad engineering."

"Are you really so audacious as to insult Leonardo Da Vinci? The man was brilliant."

"Did you just compliment someone who wasn't from England? I'm shocked, Hastings."

"Do I have to instill the quiet rule between you two?" William interrupted their argument.

"I am sorry, I was just curious as to whether or not the machine flew. I apologize to have caused such trouble. Lance was a carpenter as well as an inventor, himself. Perhaps he neglected to include that part of the design in his test. He was ambitious enough to attempt make a chair that folds, maybe he thought that fire was a flaw in the design."

"Folding chairs? Those exist, Connor. Lance was on to something," Rebecca assured. Connor ventured a smile.

"They do? His work was a success, then." Rebecca could sense the pride Connor felt for his friend. It was heartwarming. Desmond cracked his eyes open at the discussion-- lifting his head from Connor's shoulder. He looked to William-- though the others had shifted to a more lighthearted conversation, he could feel their unease. He could feel the fear rising within himself, as well. Desmond looked across the van to William.

His father's eyes were locked on the floor, caught up in some internal storm that Desmond could only venture to understand.  Desmond ventured to his feet-- a sudden lurch of the van sent him stumbling. Connor reached out to steady him, William darting to his feet and catching Desmond's uninjured arm.

"I'm fine," Desmond responded to the silent question that deceived William's composure.  "I just wanted to sit next to you, is all." William, bewildered, could do nothing but nod and help Desmond to where he was sitting. Desmond felt like a _child_ , begging for a parent's attention to be comforted and _protected_ with nothing more than an arm around one's shoulders.

For all of the time Desmond had spent resenting even the presence of his father growing up, and through his defiance as he struggled-- and continued to struggle-- to recover and get back on his feet, he yearned for the comfort of human contact. The relationship should have _been there,_ interactions between William and Desmond had been hostile at best since the younger Miles had run away.

Desmond leaned into his father's embrace, with a childish wish that William would guard him as he slept. Nothing could stop the impending duty that Desmond had yet to fulfill, but the steady rise and fall accompanied by such a familiar heartbeat-- Desmond supposed it was nearly the same as his own--  was a calming metronome to the storm brewing in Desmond's head. He let his eyes close, with a sigh that William could scarcely ever recall hearing before. He grit his teeth-- it felt as though there was exponentially more at stake than even before-- while the freedom of the entire world lay in the balance between the Templars power and Juno, something tightened in William's chest. He stood the chance of losing his son, _again_.

***

Juhani rubbed a hand over his face, blinking past his exhaustion as the rest of the plane boarded. He eyed each of the passengers as they came by, assessing each of them as a possible threat. Vidic insisted that he take a passenger jet-- to maintain the air of normalcy.

Juhani inwardly groaned as two people took their seats beside him. Combat and death and _hell_ he could handle, but seat him between two people on a plane-- Juhani couldn't promise that there wouldn't be blood. Ignoring the announcement to _turn off all electrical devices_ , Juhani put headphones in his ears and turned up the volume on his ipod. Neglecting the chance to try to catch some sleep, Juhani pulled a book out of his bag. _Have to pass the time somehow_.

Flying had never bothered him-- being a mercenary in the Finnish Special Forces made up for a lot of lingering fears any might have had. Still, every bump upon take-off and bouts of turbulence during flight made Juhani tense. The world didn't scare him. It was only that he suspected the world was ill at ease since it was supposed to have _ended_ and people were coming _back from the dead_. It had made a miniscule, yet nagging shard of fear form within him. He didn't entirely know what was happening, and control was something that Juhani coveted.

He looked at his watch-- no copious amount of time had passed since the last time he did. Sighing, he stood; the passenger next to him obligingly moved so he could get through to the aisle. He nodded to them in thanks, and made his way to the restroom in the hopes of easing his nerves. Juhani inwardly scoffed.

_Nerves. What am I, thirteen again?_        

The light above the restroom was red. Juhani leaned against the nearby wall, crossing his arms as he counted the seconds.

He jumped when he felt something brush his shoulder. Juhani turned, grabbing the hand on his shoulder on impulse. A soft cry sounded from a nearby row of seats; Juhani looked down to the wide-eyed flight attendant who had tried to get his attention. The hardened scowl on his face fell to apology.

_"I'm very sorry."_ He released her arm, putting his hands behind his back.

_"I was just trying to tell you that the captain has instructed that all passengers remain seated for the duration of the flight-- we are expecting a lot of turbulence upon our descent."_

_"I'm very sorry ma'am,"_ Juhani began again. He could feel the heat of a handful of the passenger's eyes on him. _"I didn't hear the announcement."_ He grit his teeth and made his way to his seat again, the people sitting next to him thankfully oblivious to the scene he made.

A nervous glance to the front of the cabin revealed the flight attendant he'd encountered speaking with someone over the phone. She anxiously looked in his direction. _If this causes a situation, Warren will have my head._ Juhani reveled in his loyalty to the man-- no matter how little he trusted him, Vidic still had power over him.

_He saved your daughter, Juhani. You owe him your loyalty-- yet Warren  was playing god in facets that he said he never would._ That alone set Juhani on edge. In the beginning, he hadn't the need to question Warren's motives. He did what the man said and found a cause in the action. He'd still like to think he was keeping his daughter safe, but he had never been more uncertain.

If Juhani shrunk into his seat in apprehension, he'd never admit it.

He clenched his teeth as the plane landed, more than eager to be back on the ground, yet his unease grew with each passing moment. _Why_  it took people so god-awfully long to vacate a plane was completely beyond him. At that moment, he couldn't bear to stand still any longer than he had to.

Juhani kept his head down as he made his way to the terminal-- he grit his teeth when he felt the Airport Security Officer's eyes on him. Perhaps Warren would call him paranoid, but with what was at stake, both in the Templar claims _and_ who waited at home for him-- Juhani wasn't prepared to be anything but.

Once he cleared the terminal, Juhani allowed himself a breath of relief. His phone vibrated in his pocket. It seemed that a momentary reprieve was yet too much to ask. He sighed, reading the text that came through.

_Waiting near Baggage Claim. Hope your flight went smoothly. -L._

Juhani could _taste_ the scorn in Laetitia's message. As he waded through the crowds,  he rubbed at his arm-- the tracking device they injected him with was only to ensure his position if they needed him, but Juhani wondered if they didn't have even more capabilities than they let on.

It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest.

When Juhani looked up to lock eyes with Laetitia England, it took all of his willpower not to look away, and even more for his eyes not to narrow. Laetitia stared back at him with that _knowing_ look in her eyes-- always cautious and suspicious-- as he approached.

"Good morning, Mr. Berg." Juhani couldn't tell if her chipper tone was faked, or she really was so much of a morning person.  "I trust your flight went well?"

"Yes." Her skeptical gaze was averted as she handed him a cup of coffee.

"I know coffee isn't the best for those who are already moderately jumpy, but you look like you could use the caffeine." Juhani closed his eyes, putting a hand over his face.

"How did you _know_?"

"I'd say that there always eyes on you, Mr. Berg, but that sounds a bit too Orwellian for such a beautiful morning." Laetitia turned, an unspoken command for Juhani to follow somewhere between her footsteps. Juhani let out a huff. They were the _Templars_ \-- Juhani would be damned if they didn't model themselves after Big Brother to begin with. _Or maybe Big Brother was modeled after the Templars_.

"I assume you're the one who kept airport security off my back?" Juhani caught up with Laetitia.

"How many times do we have to tell you, Juhani..."

"I didn't do anything."

"You _assaulted_ a flight attendant."

"I meant no harm. I was caught off guard for a moment, and I'm sorry if you're regretting hiring someone who's trained to _fight_."

"We're supposed to stay under the radar, not cause scenes on commercial airlines."

"Then don't put the Mercenary on flights with the general populace." Juhani was regretful of scaring the flight attendant, but his exhaustion-shortened impatience, along with his low affinity for Laetitia's questioning put him on the defensive.

He followed her to her car. The vehicle was inconspicuous enough, a neutral black welcoming the shadows of the parking garage; the relative shine of the body and tint of the windows spoke of something less so.

"Warren and the others are waiting for us at HQ." Laetitia changed the subject, maneuvering herself into the driver's seat as Juhani did the same on the passenger's side.

The minutes passed in their drive to the Abstergo Headquarters, each one of them in silence. Juhani idly twiddled his thumbs, unable to sit without fidgeting.

"How's Finland this time of year?" Laetitia finally broke the tension. Still, Juhani kept his end up as if his life depended on it.

"Cold."

"Staying warm then, I hope?"

"Nothing I can't handle." Juhani shifted again, sighing as he did so. They crested a hill, framing HQ in their sights.

"Did you have a good Christmas? I haven't seen you since before December." Juhani side-eyed Laetitia, eyes narrowing briefly before returning to the road ahead of them.

"I'm Pagan. I celebrate Yule." Juhani couldn't help but feel a little pride at Laetitia's uncomfortable shift in her seat.

"How was that, then?"

"Fine." Juhani didn't know how else to denote that he did  _not_ want to make small-talk. One worded answers were generally an indicator of such. Laetitia was so  _persistent._

"How's Maia doing?"

"Well, thanks." Juhani's voice was short, a warning for Laetitia to drop the subject. Abstergo had he and Maia under their thumb, yet he didn't want his daughter to be a frequent topic of interest.

"Do you know what's going on, Laetitia?"

"What do you mean, Mr. Berg?"

"I mean-- the world was supposed to _end_ , all of these people are coming back from the _dead_..."

"You make it sound like the zombie apocalypse, Mr. Berg. Don't be childish."

"We've got Warren and supposedly a Templar Grandmaster from the American Revolution who are apparently different than the three we have stewing in the basement; The assassins have... gods know who else, this isn't _normal_." Laetitia remained silent as she pulled into a parking garage off of the HQ building. After they cleared the checkpoint, Laetitia spoke:

"You really should trust us, Mr. Berg, with this matter as well as your daughter. Trust is the key element of loyalty."

"Look at my face, Laetitia. Do you call this disloyalty?" Juhani pointed to the right side of his face, scar tissue all too evident-- tight despite of the numbness of thickened skin.

"I call it a mistake. Your objective was to kill Harlan Cunningham, an objective which you failed." Laetitia parked the car, gathering her things and getting out. Juhani followed, an impassive glare pointed across the top of the car at her.

"That bomb was unexpected-- no one could have predicted that. Adriano Maestranzi acted outside of the jurisdiction of anyone but himself. I lost my _entire team_ because of that raid, Laetitia."

"The entire team, except for you, Mr. Berg."

"What are you insinuating, England?"

"Nothing." Laetitia's tone was lofty; Juhani grit his teeth.             

"The official report of the raid in Florence commended you for the casualties inflicted among the assassins. Keep in mind that the official report can differ between the word amongst other members of our cause, Mr. Berg."

"You trust a Templar from a different time, who betrayed our cause for his _assassin_ son more than you do one who has given blood and sweat in recent times?"

"Grandmaster Kenway has not betrayed our cause."

"We recovered his journal-- I've seen it. The Templars wanted Connor dead, and were so very close to it until someone happened to cut the rope the young Kenway was being hanged with."

"Clipper, I believe his name was."

"Whom Haytham paid off to save Connor-- and colonial weapons, Laetitia, weren't always true no matter how deft the shooter. Haytham finished the job." Juhani and Laetitia had made their way to the elevator. Juhani crossed his arms, keeping his eyes pointedly forward.

"Warren trusts Haytham enough to divulge our most hidden secrets. Who are you to question his authority?" Juhani remained silent."What would you do, had you been in Haytham's shoes, Mr. Berg? Would you let Maia die if she had chosen the life of an Assassin?"

"As I have told you before, I keep my duties as a Templar away from my daughter. I suggest you do the same."

"All I'm saying, Mr. Berg, is that the day will come in which Maia learns of what you do, and she'll make a decision." The thought made Juhani's stomach flip.

"I will do my best to make sure that never happens." Juhani's voice was low, each word meticulous. Laetitia offered an apprehensive look, before the elevator doors opened and the two entered the lift.

"Warren also trusts _you_ , Mr. Berg. As do I, however it would be a disservice to not remind you of the importance of your allegiance." Laetitia swiped her Abstergo ID through the elevator's keypad, before pressing the main floor's button.

"My devotion has always been here, England," Juhani growled. Laetitia remained silent, the soft elevator music the only thing sounding between them. _A ruse for the corporate body-- clever._ The Templars were too gritty to have something as soft as elevator music in their systems, yet it was the little things that made a cover, and Abstergo was streamlined. Perhaps it was no surprise that they were so persistent to any doubts they had. Why they had so many about Juhani still eluded him.

The elevator doors opened, revealing the main lobby of the building. There were double the security guards than the last time Juhani had been there, undoubtedly due to the Assassins' infiltration of it not more than a few weeks ago. As the two stepped out, Juhani grabbed Laetitia's arm for the briefest of moments. He spoke, his voice no more than a rumble.

"And if you so much as mention my daughter one more time, I'll have blood before the sun sets on the day." Juhani could feel Laetitia tense, however minute the reaction. Her voice was calm as she looked up at him.

"We have a meeting to get to, Mr. Berg. Follow me." Laetitia led him to the main elevator, taking them to the top floor of the building. As they entered the lobby of the conference room, the receptionist greeted them kindly.

"Master England, Master Berg." Juhani nodded in recognition; he wondered when the rift between oblivious worker and Templar Knight divided the company. Laetitia led him to a corridor opposite the apparent conference room. They turned, turned again, before coming to an undecorated blank wall. Laetitia tapped the wall with her fingers, a holographic keypad appearing before a panel prompted her for a fingerprint and retinal identification. After she was done, Juhani followed suit.

The seam of a door appeared, before opening, revealing a dark passage. _Secretive as ever._ The Inner Sanctum would have nothing touched by the rest of the Order. Following Laetitia into the darkened passage, they walked into the conference room after a minute of following the corridor. The light gradually brightened, easing their eyes to the blinding, pure white sheen that the rest of the building emitted.

Juhani entered the conference room, searching the group of people who sat at the table. Warren sat at far end, hands crossed in front of him and an expectant look in his eyes.

"Juhani, it's good to see you safely from Helsinki," Warren began. Juhani offered a slight bow in thanks, yet it did not stop his eyes from wandering to the figure at Vidic's side. Juhani straightened, walking over to Haytham and Vidic, never taking his eyes off of the previous Grandmaster. Haytham stood, eyeing Juhani with the same intensity.

"Master Berg, I have heard much about you," said Haytham, his arms behind his back.

"As I have of you, Master Kenway." Juhani offered a hand, to which Haytham took after a moment of indecision and looking Juhani over as if he was an animal to be wary of.

Haytham regarded the man in front of him. A mercenary, as Warren had explained. The man was rugged, internally frayed at the edges and unafraid to do what was necessary to get a job done. He was hardened, and seemed he would stretch himself all the way to the point of cruelty when in battle-- his posture and permanent withering set of his eyes told as much. There was something there too, however that denoted something gentle. Not a man with a heart of gold, in any sense-- but he could be warm and loving when the need arose. Warren had mentioned that Berg had a daughter. Perhaps that was it-- the notion of it being the thing to connect the two Templars was expelled from Haytham's mind in a heartbeat. They both had children, yes-- but the man before Haytham would raise his child, and claimed to detach himself from her as he went about his work. Haytham wondered how one could be so cruel-- if Juhani was anything like himself, he was lying. Perhaps they could relate, after all. Until they became more familiar with one another, the thought would have to wait.

Juhani released Haytham's hand. He turned, finding the nearest available seat, and sitting. He surveyed the room. Most eyes were fixed on Kenway, until Alan Rikkin stood from the seat across from Haytham, calling their attention.

"Normally it would be me who would lead this meeting, however due to recent events," Rikkin paused, regarding Warren and Haytham, "it seemed only appropriate that Warren be given the floor." He sat, gesturing toward Vidic.

"Thank you, Alan. I know this meeting is rather short notice, but so is the time frame we have. I'd like to clear the playing field, though-- you all are familiar with Haytham Kenway, Grandmaster of the Templar Order during the 18th century. He, as well as I should be dead as we speak, but we are not. Many of you know Project Manala, which utilizes both Animus and our refined knowledge of Precursor technology to sustain life, even after death. I was not to be included in this project, and Haytham was certainly not among those to be tested on.

"The failure of Eye-Abstergo left us without a Piece of Eden to advance our research as quickly as we wanted to-- we have a Piece of Eden that has led  us to use an altered version of the Animus to resurrect and sustain life in a suspended state-- however the technology is _not_  here that we can supplement life. The three subjects who are undergoing this treatment are in the comatose stages of regeneration, and will likely stay that way until we make more advancements.

"After a great deal of thought, I recommend that we continue our search for another Piece of Eden, as well as continue our research into the nature of Precursor technology.

"That being said, you have received word of the Assassins experiencing a similar anomaly with the appearance of William Miles and his team after fleeing the Grand Temple-- three assassins in tow from different centuries. I would consider sending field teams after them-- once we have them in custody, it will likely shed light on the situation at hand."

Àlvaro Gramática was the first to speak up-- the research executive's face emitted something between confusion and fear.  

"Could the reason you're back have something to do with the Assassins and why they've come back from the dead?"

"It is a possibility, and one we cannot rule out until we answer all of the unknowns."

"Then isn't it possible that they know as little as we do?"

"That's why our focus should remain on the research regarding Project Manala. I have no doubt that finding the Assassins will be beneficial in any case, though. William Miles' team is one of the most formidable we face, if any credit is to be given. Apprehending them will be a vital step in the Templars' success."

"Doesn't Miles' team _have_ an Apple of Eden?" Laetitia commented. "Capturing them should be our first priority."

"I agree," Juhani added. Rikkin was the next to speak, responding to Juhani:

"You sent a team out to follow a lead, is that correct, Mr. Berg?" Juhani only nodded.

"Sir, with all due respect, whether the Assassins know more than we do or not, their apprehension is just as important. Testing them, in turn would give us an advantage to our own research, with minimal resources wasted than if we stretched them trying to achieve both tasks."

"The Order is bigger than one may think, Mr. Berg. We have plenty of people to achieve both tasks," Rikkin countered.

"Then at least put an Inner Sanctum member at the head of each operation. Merely sending field teams to do the dirty work won't accomplish much of anything if we sit here."

"I believe that would be your job, Mr. Berg," said Laetitia. Juhani's eyes flicked between her, Rikkin, and Vidic.

"You're sending me to the  States?"

"If that's where they are, then yes. Until we acquire that information, you'll stay here, and help with research and Haytham's acquisition to the century, as well as organizing the field teams in their operations."

"You're going to have me babysit a former Templar Grandmaster?"  Vidic's eyes narrowed.

"'Babysit' would be poor word choice, Juhani.  Besides, I need your help while we gather our resources." Juhani nodded.

"Very well, then." Rikkin stood. "England, I want you to monitor our organization and corporate ties, make sure everything is in order, as well as keep tabs on each of the Inner Sanctums' teams. Berg, you'll do just as Warren says, keep an eye on the ground troops and when the time is right, travel with them to track the Assassins. You'll be in charge of the tracking and finding of any Precursor objects we find, as well. Nakamura, Gramática, Ardent-- I want you three to be in charge of our research. Keep in touch with Warren to report any leads or advancements you make. Utilize any and all of Abstergo's workers you need. The Animus project is to be put on hold in favor of Project Manala." The group collectively agreed, standing and exiting the room. Juhani lingered, approaching Vidic and Kenway as Rikkin addressed them.

"When the time comes, we'll need to be in control of our situation, Warren," Rikkin began.

"We will be. We may not be now, but we have always had one thing that the Assassins lacked: order," Vidic assured. Juhani could scarcely take his eyes off of Haytham, who regarded the men in front of him with such a _passive_ gaze-- Juhani wondered how he managed it.

"I'm taking your word for it, Warren. If we have another incident like we did with Miles..."

"That won't happen again, I'll be sure of it," Warren claimed. Rikkin offered a curt nod before exiting the room, leaving Juhani, Haytham, and Warren behind.

"Where do we begin?" Haytham questioned. Juhani sighed, crossing his arms.

"First of all, you have _got_ to get out of those clothes. Cloaks were inconspicuous up to about 100 years ago-- and that garb, people will pick you out a mile away."

"Starting with the most important things first then, Mr. Berg?" Juhani could feel Warren's scorn.

"I can't take him seriously if he's wearing that stupid hat."

"If my attire distracts Mr. Berg, I suppose a change is necessary." Haytham walked past him, in a silent beckoning for the other two to follow. Juhani grit his teeth. They were in for the long haul already, but with such a haughty ally, Juhani would have his utmost patience tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *MORE FAST BREATHING* I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and you all have my infinite gratitude for your patience with me and this fic. I have every intention of continuing it, even if my updates aren't very consistent. I originally had more planned for this chapter, however due to it's length at the end of this bit, I decided to split it up into two-- that being said, I should have another update soon! 
> 
> As per Assassin's Creed: Rogue, it has been brought to my attention that Juhani's daughter's name is Elina, and not Maia. For the sake of this fic (it's an AU, so not entirely canon to begin with, as most fanon is) I'm going to keep her name Maia-- when I gave her the name, there was little to nothing on Juhani Otso Berg, let alone his daughter, and I feel like changing her name now would be pointless. Plus, I like the name Maia better, so. 
> 
> With my many thanks and promises of another update soon-- I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and don't hesitate to comment and review! I'm always open to advice and others' thoughts!


	9. Learning Pains

Shaun lay, staring up at the ceiling of the van, trying to will himself to sleep. He pulled his blanket tighter around himself. The cold had settled for the night-- a glance to his watch revealed how late it was. _3:00am_. The witching hour was upon them, and Shaun feared that if he wasn't asleep by then, he could say goodbye to getting any much needed shut-eye.

William sat in the front seat of the van, having just finished another round of keeping watch over their position. The forest around them was dark and secluded, yet it still provided no opportunities to keep themselves warm, other than thermal jackets, blankets, and their own body heat. A fire would be warm, but braving  the elements outside of the shelter of their vehicle through the night would border on idiocy.

Connor sat up in the back of the van, alternating between his way of absent-mindedly picking at the calluses on his fingers, and looking to the others who slept around him. Shaun felt a pang of remorse; everyone crammed into the back of the van's floor was huddled up against someone else-- and the longing look in Connor's eyes conveyed a loneliness that the man never let on. Altair and Malik, Ezio and Yusuf, Shaun and Desmond and Rebecca-- in the cold and confusing world that the people around him had been thrust into, they each _had someone_ who they trusted and could find solace in. Connor-- had no one.

Connor rubbed a hand over his face, the electric lantern that was lit cast shadows on his face that seemed to beckon him to sleep-- with each blink, his eyelids seemed to become the slightest bit heavier.

Shaun sat up, reaching for his glasses on the bench above him. He whispered:

"Connor, you might as well get some sleep, since it's eluding me." Connor's head snapped up, his deep gaze meeting Shaun's.

"I would never assume to take your sleeping time."

"I appreciate that, but I'm not sleeping, and you're falling to it, get over here. I'm sure the others would appreciate the warmth." The  man was near enough to a human space heater, and Shaun couldn't figure out for the life of him why he himself was so cold all of the time, and Connor was warm and content no matter where they were.

After a few moments of silent, inner debate, Connor finally nodded, quietly situating himself to take Shaun's place on the floor. Shaun took over the spot on the bench Connor had previously occupied, still trying to wrap his blanket even closer around him.

"Thank you, Shaun," Connor whispered. He settled in beside Rebecca; the latter unconsciously moved closer to the warmth.

"Don't mention it, mate. Just make the most of it." Shaun smirked, finally getting his blanket tight enough around himself that he could feel his toes. He quickly glanced around the van-- William's eyes stayed fixed on the front and their rearview mirrors; the others were sound asleep, or at least pretending to be. Shaun was thankful for it-- he was sure Rebecca or Yusuf would comment on how he looked more like a burrito than an Assassin.

Shaun sighed, leaning his head against the boxes of equipment they had stacked against the wall. He wasn't sure exactly _how_ they were pulling all of this off-- usually when they thought they were off the radar, there was a catch and they were _ambushed._ He was utterly _useless_ when their hideout had been attacked in New York; he was thrown by the wayside as a non-threatening _nothing_. Shaun hoped they would be able to train, and soon-- undoubtedly Desmond, as well as Yusuf would need to build their strength up again; the others would need training in present-day combat as well. Hand-to-hand would probably be rather similar, it was the ever-prominent element of advanced ranged combat that would be the biggest concern.

He scoffed at himself. _Thinking about_ combat _\--_ Shaun was about as much of a fighter as a garden gnome. He used to be a _University Professor, for god's sake._ Yet, he looked to Yusuf, who, even in sleep shifted to try to relieve the discomfort of his knee. _It was his fault that Yusuf was hurt._

If Yusuf hadn't taken on that Templar, then Desmond would have been taken, or killed, or both. If he had been able to fight, Yusuf wouldn't have gotten hurt. He was saved by Yusuf, by Connor when they had been jumped in the alleyway on the way to their hideout, he was saved by Rebecca, only a few years ago; Shaun had begun to believe that he couldn't take care of himself if it ever came down to it. They all were on the path to war, and he needed to be able to do his part.

Fighting had always seemed optional-- now, more than ever it was not. A historian-computer technician was nothing if he was _dead_ , and they had enough to worry about without another injury on board.

Perhaps it was foolish to think that everyone could get out of such a situation unscathed.

Shaun sighed. Absently looking to the ceiling, he wondered what it was like to be just another person walking down the street. Eating, sleeping, trudging through day after day without any divine _purpose_ \-- it was innocent, and something that unsettled him.

Ruefully, he mused that if the general populace had nothing extraordinary going on in their lives, it was no wonder that the world hadn't changed. _Those Who Came Before_ _overestimated our abilities_.

 _No._ Shaun berated himself for the thought. He'd seen with his own eyes what the human race was capable of. What Desmond had done, what millennia of thinkers and philosophers and scientists had accomplished-- _and yet, maybe Those Who Came Before_  underestimated _humanity's capabilities._ Perhaps the aimless drones of modern consumerism were just lost, and had yet to realize their purpose. Shaun had been the same, before Abstergo popped up and he just _couldn't_ keep his nose out of their business.

His musings did little to calm his anxiety, yet he had to hold on to them as if his life depended on them. In their present situation-- all of their lives did.

***

_Such petty creatures Those Who Came Before had cultured, yet their strength knew no bounds. The children, after all were modeled after their predecessors. When the First Civilization had kept their creations as slaves, the Golden Age of their people were upon them. Life was as leisure, and their technology was advancing at faster speeds than even they could have predicted._

_They were coming along so well in multiple facets of being-- their devices could house enough energy to rebuild worlds, store endless data, utilize the divine web of their existence to do so much as to even raise the dead._

_All of their progress was cut short, however when their slaves rebelled-- Adam and Eve. How had They created such imperfections, such blemishes to their perfect world?  Adam and Eve stole  an Apple of Eden, and such was Those Who Came Before's wrath that they retaliated, moving mountains in their haste to regain their control. It was no small task-- once a spark of rebellion ignites, it spreads uncontrollably to any and all who had even a shred of doubt in their minds._

_The humans were bred to be intelligent-- they had to have doubt in order to have certainty._

_In Their anger and rage, they tampered with forces that even they had no control over. The sun's fire threatened to destroy their world, and in their preoccupation with their traitors, they lacked the technology to stop it. The slave had surpassed the master, and in their mad dash to reinstate their dominance, Those Who Came Before triggered the Great Catastrophe._

_Because of this, they had little more they could do but plan for the End. They hid their soon to be artifacts, hidden and dispersed through time so that They could perhaps live again._

_This was not good enough for Juno; the one who defected from the Trio who had been tasked with Earth's salvation wanted life from decimation. The others saw this, and rendered their Temples and artifacts non-functioning, so that only those worthy enough to utilize them would be able to. Because of Adam and Eve's fallacy, the Golden Age had fallen, and there would be struggle._

_There would be a second Catastrophe-- only then could the power be activated again. When He-- the timeline formed him as Desmond Miles-- was there to activate it. Plans were made, Juno schemed even with the world so close to ruin._

_The Capitoline Triad was but one that had power. Yet another Precursor would watch them, observe them, keep their goals in line with what they sought. The Onlooker could see their plan, and see its flaws, how Desmond Miles would choose to save the world-- and yet he would live from it. Juno would spread to nearly every corner of the world, and infiltrate the core with her own power to take it over, more effective than any others could._

_The Onlooker had power over its lesser Triad, though could only exact it when the time was right. Due to the first Catastrophe, Precursor power was obsolete when put in the hands of mortals._

_If, however mortals defied their own laws, by power of gift and will, Juno could be defeated._

***

Desmond woke with a start, eyes darting around him, taking his surroundings as he slowly came back to the waking world. He was dreaming--yet he couldn't remember anything. There was a trickle of dread that ran through him. He had faced and conquered the impossible, but the worst was yet to come.

"I still don't understand why we can't just stop by a hole-in-the-wall convenience store and get food. It would be faster, more efficient, and _I don't know how to hunt_." Shaun's hands were a blur as they outlined his exasperation. Dawn had crawled into the sky wholly unwelcome; the Assassins collectively groaned as they were woken by the sun's light streaming into the van and Rebecca prodding them softly to wake.

Desmond winced as he sat up, the pain in his arm magnified by the cold and lack of movement. He hissed at the sensation, before closing his eyes and leaning his head against the bench he sat against.

"You know, I'm regretting the whole 'preserve the sun and save the world thing'-- maybe then I wouldn't have to be blinded every morning just to wake up." Rebecca smirked at Desmond's jest, helping him up to sit on top of the bench. She grabbed a package of medical supplies, and went about rebandaging Desmond's arm. He grit his teeth and tried to ignore the fire that enveloped his right arm, but even with a replenished dose of painkillers the pain still threatened to consume him.

Connor  stepped out of the van after a disgruntled Shaun, who was still battling William with his idea of acquiring food. Connor inspected his bow and quiver of arrows, making sure everything was in place.

"Seriously, William. Hunting without a permit is a) illegal and b) _very_ unwise when you throw me in the mix. We also have food, and more than enough supplies to get us to our rendezvous with Gavin. This is uneccessary."

"You had expressed your concern about not being able to fight-- hunting seems to be a good first step. It teaches stealth, planning, and execution in an effective way. Besides, I don't trust anywhere that's well populated, or anyone besides our group, at the moment. Staying in the woods until we can reach the harbor we're meeting Gavin in is our best option of staying off the grid." William crossed his arms, an impassive look on his face. Shaun's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I don't have a bow."

"Connor will teach you how to use one, as well as the essentials of hunting. Now go-- I want to be moving again by this afternoon." Connor nodded at William's orders, turning and heading into the forest. Shaun let out a huff, before following, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders. The sun had come out, but it did little to fight the Winter chill.

Shaun stumbled as tree roots and fallen branches littered their path. He could tell by Connor's carefully placed footsteps that he was unfamiliar with the forest, yet he was well versed in the inconsistencies that nature threw out them. Shaun lamented in his comfort with the city. It was regulated and sheltered, something that he could find solace in. Many people took comfort in the opposite, too worn out by the sounds of cars and machines and so many _people_ \-- but it was where Shaun drew his strength. That, he could apply to the ability to fight. Stranded in the forest with little more than a researcher's knowledge of a region left him floundering.

Connor held out an arm to stop him, before crouching and surveying the ground at their feet.

"Many people have been through here."

"Great." Shaun threw his arms over his head. "I would love for us so much to become Wendigos, but unfortunately, I'm not in the mood for human flesh. Can't we pick berries, or something that doesn't involve live food?" Connor only responded with a furrow of his brow.

"Plants also live."

"I... That's not the point. If we're going to run into people, we should pick another place to hunt."

"These disturbances are both human and animal. Undoubtedly, hunters were in this area, looking for game." Connor looked around, before setting a direction for them to follow. "This way."

"Let's hope we don't get taken for wildlife," Shaun muttered.

"One look at you, and I can hardly imagine they would."

"Wha..." Shaun stuttered, slightly taken aback by the level of Connor's sarcasm. "You have a point." Connor smirked. They continued for a few minutes, before Connor stopped him again.

"Do you have any experience with archery?"

"A little, from when I was a schoolboy. They taught it in my gym class."

"They teach archery at schools?"

"As a sport, yes. It's performed at an Olympic level, as well."

"Olympic? As in the games in Greece?" Shaun pursed his lips.

"Sort of. Nowadays they take influence from the original Olympic games, with far more sports and far less revealed skin."

"Are they always held overseas?"

"Sometimes, it depends on the year. Are you going to tell me how to shoot arrows or what?" Shaun admired Connor's curiosity, yet they had to achieve _something_ besides the betterment of knowledge.  Connor only nodded, taking his bow from across his back.

"Do you know which eye is your dominant?"

"I know I have god-awful vision, so they're both pretty submissive." Connor sighed, offering a good-natured smile in consolation. "My right eye."

"Good. Now take hold of the center of the bow with your non-dominant hand, and wrap two of your fingers from your other hand around the string." Connor demonstrated, handing his bow to Shaun when he was done. Shaun hesitated.

"Are you sure? Your bow is important to you-- I might break it."

"I trust you." In a sort of daze, Shaun took the bow, following Connor's instructions.

"Now, you take aim with your dominant eye, closing the other one, and fix on a spot." Connor came up behind Shaun, looking down his line of sight. He brought his arms to parallel Shaun's, guiding his movements. "Plant your feet-- and pull the bowstring back. Feel its tension."

"Shouldn't we be doing this with arrows?"

"One step at a time, Shaun." Shaun complied, pulling the string back with only minor struggle.

"Release the string," Connor continued. Shaun let go, bracing himself for the force-- the bowstring bounced off of his jacket sleeve, the motion startling him. He backed into Connor, before jumping back in the opposite direction.

"Sorry, mate. How'd I do?" Connor said nothing, only pulling an arrow out of his quiver.

"We will see." _Training, my ass. William is set on torturing me._

***

"Are you sure it was a good plan to send Connor and Shaun out on their own? Connor's not familiar with the area, and Shaun's about as helpful as an earthworm when it comes to navigation in the forest," Rebecca voiced her concern. She had finished re-bandaging Desmond's arm, and had made sure he was comfortable before she joined William at his post in the front of the van.

"I trust Connor will use his inherent tracking skills to find them a way back to us." William sounded distant, as if the well-being of two of their group was the farthest thing from the forefront of his mind. Rebecca sighed. She knew she couldn't get the man to sleep, no matter how much he looked like he needed it.

"I sent Altair and Ezio to find firewood. If Shaun and Connor _do_ manage to catch any food, we'll need a way to prepare it." William blinked, coming back to their conversation fully as Rebecca spoke.

"Good. How are the others?"

"Well enough-- I couldn't manage to get Desmond to do anything other than let me change his bandages, he went straight to sleep after that." William glanced back, his gaze coming over Desmond's prone and sleeping form. William grit his teeth.

"He cracked a joke, this morning though, if that's any consolation," Rebecca assured. Desmond was healing, yet the process was slow and painful and made each of them realize each of the broken pieces the man had shattered into-- each of the breaks in an exterior that was still putting itself together again. Rebecca digressed. They had to focus on moving at the moment. Gavin and his crew would be able to assist them in recovery.

"I'm going to do another patrol. Stay with these three." William shifted in his seat, opening the door before stepping into the open. The sun had steadily and sluggishly made its way into the sky in the breaking dawn; William breathed in the crisp winter air. The sun, as always seemed to mimic their very progress.

Malik allowed himself a sigh as seconds bled into minutes into what felt like hours. He admitted to himself that he was jealous of Altair and Ezio being sent to gather firewood for the group, leaving him to stew in his own thoughts-- too much like so many endless days locked in his Bureau. The only distinguishing factor in his present situation was that he was surrounded by unfamiliar faces, and there was a particular bite to the air around him that he had only ever felt the semblance of in Masyaf's short snowy seasons.

He glanced to the man next to him-- Yusuf. If there was anyone more discontent with their current position, it would be him. Additionally, the normal, jovial and carefree grin that normally formed Yusuf's face was replaced by an unmistakable scowl; it was a face that he'd seen far too many times with another, more familiar face.

"What troubles you, Yusuf?" Malik could largely tell what was bothering him already. The sentiment was important, however.

"I feel useless just _sitting_ here. We were all stuck in the cabin, now others are going out and _doing_ things, and I have to stay as the docile lamb for everyone to watch over."

"Are you more upset that you are incapable of moving freely, or that you have to be taken care of?" Yusuf met Malik's eyes. They were such a striking blue-- the kind he had only seen in one other individual. _Tazim. My son. Yusuf Tazim..._ the thought was fleeting as he made the connection between the two names.

 _No._ It would be absurd to think that the man before him was of his bloodline. Malik banished the thought from his mind, the concept only lingering among the outskirts of his consciousness. He would consider it later. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't give the idea so much as a second thought, but their predicament was anything but normal, and in light of recent events, he supposed even the previously thought impossible could be the opposite.

Yusuf sighed, breaking eye contact for a moment.

"I would not take back the actions that led me here." Yusuf gestured to his knee, still tightly bound in the brace. "However, a Master Assassin must be able to move, and do so upon a moment's notice. I can do so little when I'm impaired so."

"Tell me about it." Malik gestured to what should have been his left arm. The sarcastic lift of his eyebrows gave away his intention.

"Ah, but one can still move about and fight with one arm-- the second is merely there for improving efficiency. One cannot run and jump and dodge when one leg is taken from  him."

 _Cease your complaining, your leg will heal, whereas my arm will never grow back._ Malik, in their downtime had read about the regenerative properties that animals had-- lizards growing back entire limbs after having them cut or torn from their bodies. Modern technologies had developed prosthetics that gave the illusion of having a missing limb. Unless one was prepared to sell their soul, the functioning ones were out of reach. Malik looked to Yusuf again, catching the man's eyes. Yusuf's widened in apology, recognizing Malik's discomfort.

"I am sorry, brother. I did not consider the permanence of your ailment as opposed to mine. I am just rather bored with all of this stagnation-- in Istanbul, there was hardly a day that went by that I wasn't doing _something._ I wonder if it will come the time for battle again, and I won't be able to fight." Yusuf moved his hands as he spoke, speaking so frankly that it caught Malik off guard. Generally, people chose their words carefully, not wanting to stir any undesirable reaction out of the _Dai._ Yusuf just let his mouth speak his mind. There was such a sincerity in Yusuf's tone that Malik found himself growing fond of it. The cold hearts of burdened souls was what he normally dealt with, along with an almost constantly brooding Altair-- hearing Yusuf speak lifted his heart when he thought of home, either present or past. Through deception and destruction, people with honest hearts could make things right.

Malik looked to Desmond. Undoubtedly the man was going through more-- and had been through more than any of them could imagine. Malik's gaze softened, his onyx-dark eyes softening to a deep, dark chestnut. Yusuf saw the change, it brought a smile to his face.

Desmond, too was caught in this static nebula that they were in. Malik wasn't entirely sure what to think of the man-- he seemed just as any other Assassin, any other man who fought for their cause. Even so, he'd been bestowed a great responsibility, one that Malik had no choice to believe Desmond could fulfill. Desmond too was sincere, sometimes as harshly as Altair could be-- yet still, perhaps the fallen savior still heralded hope.

Malik returned his gaze to Yusuf.

"Do not apologize-- I know the frustration of recovering. In the weeks I was recovering from this injury-- Malik gestured to the stub of his left arm again-- I could not wait to get back on my feet, after I'd accepted my fate."

"How did...?" Yusuf trailed off, hesitant to ask why a man born with two arms only had one. They had been with one another for a few weeks, Yusuf tentatively ventured into such a personal space.

"It was... an accident." _It had taken years for Altair's blatant error to become merely a mistake._

"My brother, Kadar and I were faced up against the Templar grandmaster at the time, Robert de Sable. Altair had stormed their group as they came to take an Apple of Eden. We were outnumbered-- Altair was thrown from the battle, leaving only Kadar and I.

"My arm was badly wounded in the fight-- I recovered the Apple, and in my haste to return to Masyaf, it was damaged beyond repair. It was on the verge of infection, so they had to amputate it to save my life."

"It was _Altair's_ fault you lost your arm?"

"He didn't put that in his Codex, did he?"

"I have only the stories Ezio uncovered about the Grandmaster, so I suppose not. _Dela_ reveres the man, too-- I'd be hard pressed to hear anything negative about him." Malik let out a huff of amusement. After so many years, though-- Altair was brilliant, he certainly deserved at least _some_ of the limelight he was given.

"What about your brother, Kadar?" Yusuf questioned, curiosity lighting his eyes.

"He was killed."

"I'm sorry to hear that, brother."

"It was a long time ago-- the pain is not so raw as it was." Yusuf offered a reconciliatory nod, a moment of silence passing between the two, as if for Malik's lost kin.

"You fret, because you cannot move about as you like," Malik began, "however, you clearly have not heard stories of the disabled triumphing in battle."

"There were always people who were not able-bodied who managed to fight, I just don't know how."

"Do you think I knew when I was given a Bureau to run?"

"You mean a Den?"

"They are the same thing."

"Fair enough." Yusuf paused, considering Malik's question. "How did you learn? The Brotherhood back then was keen on only the most elite of warriors fighting for their cause."

"I taught myself. It was a long, painful process-- still healing while pushing myself to regain what I had lost after so much time kept immobile."

"The sword was still your weapon of choice, I assume? With your name, I can only think it fits." Malik only nodded, before continuing.

"I started small, but ended up sparring with the novices who came through my Bureau on missions."

"Did you ever face any enemies, then?"

"After a while, when the Brotherhood had started to crumble under Al Mualim's compromise-- more Templars made their way to our Bureau. I had more to fight off every day."

"And you did it, unaided?" Malik could sense Yusuf's excitement, welling underneath his words as boiling water in a pot. The excitement in the man's eyes reminded Malik of telling stories to Kadar, even into their adult years, neither one of them able to sleep. Malik nodded.

"It took a while to get used to the balance of a sword, with only one hand to wield it with and not another  arm to defend yourself with. Once I had mastered that, I was able to fight without any problems."

"What did you do if there were more than one person to fight?"

"What any other Assassin would do. I fought. Once, I fought off three men who had learned of the Bureau's location from the pigeons that were sent from Masyaf. They had tried to ambush one of the Brothers who had made his stake in the city-- I heard their struggle, snuck through an alley, and took on the attackers while the other Assassin ran for help." Yusuf smiled, thoroughly awed by Malik's story.

"For as much as I've seen you read--" _the man had read anything he could have gotten his hands on since they arrived in this strange place and time_ \-- "I wouldn't have thought of you as such a deadly fighter." Malik chuckled.

"Neither did the Templars." Yusuf returned the chuckle in admiration. A friendly nudge with Yusuf's elbow denoted such.

               

***

It felt as though it had been hours-- Shaun would aim and shoot an arrow, it'd go off its course, Connor would patiently retrieve it and tell him "try again." He eventually got the hang of it, being able to hit a part of an object he was aiming for.

Connor then taught him the basics of tracking, leading them to a place where a rabbit had tread, not a few minutes before them. He looked around for a few moments, before pointing to the fluffy creature in a distant bush.

"Use what I taught you-- stealth, planning, and execution," Connor whispered, backing away from where he and Shaun had been crouched.

Shaun only nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. He went through the different steps Connor had taught him-- he nocked the arrow, drew the bowstring, sighting the rabbit in front of him. It was so small, and so innocent; it was something Shaun would have kept as a pet as a child, not something that would be killed and used for food. He hesitated, lowering the bow after a moment of indecision. He turned to Connor.

"I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," Connor assured.

"You don't understand-- I've never killed anything before, and that innocent little thing, doesn't deserve to die because I need to be trained in how to be an Assassin. Besides, I hear that rabbit meat is awful. Rabbit's feet don't even guarantee good luck so really, this is a fruitless endeavor."

"You have never killed?"

"No. I... it's a long story. When a computer tech is needed, there aren't any situations that generally rise that require said computer tech to be able to kill. It's never been necessary."

"But now, you feel that it is."

"Yeah. I mean, with Juno being released and the Templars being more powerful than ever, conversely with the Assassins being weaker than ever, I would say we need all the manpower we can get."

"I admire your dedication." Shaun sighed.

"Thank you, Connor." He faced the rabbit again, holding up the bow, and taking aim. He nervously bit his tongue, pulling the bowstring back and letting loose his arrow. Connor had probably promised William that they would come back with _something._

"Nice work." Connor said-- the arrow made contact with the  back of the rabbit's head. A clean shot, and so utterly _silent_ that Shaun wasn't sure if he preferred a noise or not. Guilt washed over him, despite Connor's praise.

The first thing he'd intentionally killed-- and it was an innocent animal. The ancient tenet of their Creed ran through his head. _Never harm an innocent_. A pool of dread formed in his stomach. Killing people wasn't supposed to be easy, he'd figured that much-- but if it were even harder than killing a small animal-- _insignificant_ , _it should be_ \-- he'd have a rough time.

Shaun and Connor approached the animal. As they came closer, Shaun could see the spray of blood that now stained the rabbit's fur. Connor crouched beside the animal; looked away for a moment. When he turned around again, Connor was looking up at him expectantly.

"Now we must thank Nature for her gift to us and skin the animal." Shaun swallowed, nerves burning in his stomach. He knelt beside Connor, reaching for the arrow that protruded from the animal's neck.

Connor felt a sense of nostalgia, and with it melancholy-- he was teaching Shaun as he taught Kanen'tó:kon when they were boys. Such carefree days  were forgotten so easily, and the memory hurt as Connor recalled it-- things had taken a turn for the worst so fast. One moment, Connor and Kanen'tó:kon were best friends set on protecting their people, and the next, they were doing the same thing, yet Kanen'tó:kon had a knife to his neck and Connor had no other choice but to defend himself.

Connor grimaced, yet the memory had long since turned to scar tissue, and he turned himself to the matter at hand. Shaun had pulled the arrow from the rabbit, and had started to speak to it, as Connor had bid.

"I'm sorry, mate," Shaun started, to which Connor immediately interrupted with:

"No, you do not have to apologize. This kill was a gift, and we must use it to its full extent. Give your thanks and respect, and your debt will be repaid."

"If only the rest of the world worked like that," Shaun mumbled.

"I understand," Connor offered. Shaun nodded in his understanding, turning again to the rabbit.

"Thank you, er.... Rabbit." Connor straightened, beckoning Shaun to follow him.

"Wait, shouldn't we skin it?"

"We should go back to our camp-- others have gone to find firewood, then we can cook it there." Shaun sighed, trying to ignore the fact that he was picking up a _dead rabbit._

"You should do one of those survival shows, Connor. Like Bear Grylls or someone." Shaun matched stride with Connor as they returned to the van.

"Who?" Shaun sighed.

"I forgot. We still have a lot of catching up to do with you all." They continued through the forest, the trail back slightly easier than their trek out.

"Tell me about the rabbit's foot, you mentioned earlier," said Connor, still curious about the term.

"So much catching up to do."

***

"It sure took you guys long enough." Rebecca hopped out of the van's driver side door, greeting their returning assassins. Shaun and Connor broke through the trees about the time that Altair and Ezio did, the two groups already looking worn from the forests.

" _Mio Dio_ , I have never journeyed through forests this thick before," Ezio piped, walking next to Altair with wood piled in his arms. "Nonetheless, Altair was keen on navigation, a job that I would venture to say is not his strong suit."

"I returned us to our caravan, did I not?" Malik and Yusuf had left the van, coming around the side. Malik offered a chuckle at Altair's expense, nudging Yusuf.

"He must be hard-pressed, to make such an insult." Yusuf laughed. William met them, coming from his patrol.

"Let's get a fire going. Shaun, did you manage to catch anything?" Shaun held up the rabbit.

"We might be stretched a little thin to share, but Connor taught me some valuable skills. I suppose that's what you were going for?"

"Nice work, Hastings. Who knew you had it in you?" Rebecca interjected. She patted him on the shoulder, walking past to help Ezio and Altair with the firewood.

"He is a good student," said Connor.

"Don't encourage him," Rebecca countered. Shaun managed a smirk. As she gathered some of the wood from Ezio and Altair's arms, she called to William:

"Hey, Bill. Don't you think it will draw attention to us if we light a fire in the middle of the day?" William ignored the _told you so_ daggers that Shaun threw in his direction.

"I'm counting on the dense tree cover to be enough to catch the smoke-- additionally, this part of the forest is nearly uninhabited, save for some stubborn campers this time of year. A fire shouldn't cause too much suspicion."

"Where are we, anyway?" Desmond had joined them, rubbing his eyes at the sun that had nearly reached its midday zenith.

"About four hours away from our rendezvous point with Gavin," Rebecca supplied. Desmond only nodded.

Altair, Ezio, and Rebecca built the fire, while Shaun followed more of Connor's instructions as to how to prepare fresh game. Rebecca heard parts of their conversation, including Shaun discussing modern day survivalist shows.

"All I'm saying, is that you'd love _Man vs. Wild_ ," Shaun said.

"I'm pretty sure he _is_ the ultimate survivalist, Shaun." Rebecca motioned towards Connor. "He doesn't _need_ to watch how to survive in the wilderness, because that's practically what he does, anyway. And besides, _Survivorman_ is definitely a better show."

"Oh, really? Tell me one good reason why?"

"He actually survives in the wilderness, not just acts like it for the sake of good television?"

"That was an isolated incident, and Bear Grylls has climbed _Everest_ , for christ's sake. Wasn't _Survivorman_ canceled, too?"

"It made a brief comeback-- and quality over quantity, Hastings."

"It would be interesting to see new and developed techniques for surviving in nature," Connor interjected, breaking up the two's argument.

"If I knew you two were such TV fans, I would have insisted on bringing a television with us." Sarcasm dripped from William's voice, the man's arms crossed and eyes conveying a rising impatience. They had four more hours of travel, and every minute they delayed gave their enemy one more of reconnaissance.

***

It was strange, being around a fire in broad daylight, yet the group of Assassins were content around it. Despite the sun, temperatures were still cold and the extra warmth was welcome. Desmond huddled further into his winter jacket. Altair seemed just as disgruntled, which prompted Malik to tease him with a spider that had been crawling near where he sat.

 _"Altair, I think you have something on your shoulder_." Malik pointed to the bug he had just placed there. Altair turned his head, his eyes widening in fear as he saw the small creature, frantically batting it away and losing his balance on the fallen tree branch he sat on.

The ancestors couldn't help but chuckle at the disheveled Altair as he regained his seat. Shaun, Rebecca, and Desmond joined them after a few moments.

" _Has Malik been taking lessons from you, Yusuf?"_ Ezio murmured to his friend sitting beside him.

 _"I believe, in that respect, Malik is the one to credit, Ezio. I have taught him nothing of my ways."_ Even yet, it did nothing to stop a smirk from growing on Yusuf's face.

William returned to the fireside, after yet another patrol around their area. _Sit, eat, relax for a minute, Bill--_ the others had tried to persuade, to no avail. William was restless-- he spent the night drinking shitty instant coffee, but nonetheless-- after staying still for so long, it was torturous to be on the brink of action, even when they had no idea where they were going. When they reached Gavin, what would they do then?

"Let's get moving." The others fell silent, only nodding and looking for materials to douse the fire.

Once they had packed up the van again, they headed out. The short, winter days allowed the sun to set much earlier than it felt the day should stretch, yet by the time they started toward their rendezvous again, the sun was traveling toward the horizon. It would be dusk by the time they reached Gavin.

Desmond sighed in anticipation. The last time he'd seen Gavin was when he was a boy-- a rebellious preteen at that time. At that point, every authority figure was someone to be either revered or ignored. He had respected Gavin, he functioned as the cool Uncle figure whenever Desmond could get away from the wrath of his father's disappointment. Gavin had told him sailor stories, of great mast ships and of pirates and sirens, their exploits inciting a sense of wonder in Desmond's bleak hope for his life. The Farm was so desolate, and extraordinary stories were something he never found dull.

He wondered what Gavin would think of him and the others showing up aboard his ship-- the _Altair II_ was the Assassin's HQ, but there had to be limited space. Desmond realized with dismay that the assassins were few and far between, and that any space that Gavin had meant that someone had previously filled it.

He knew that he had to do something, and it was going to be something monumental-- _as if I haven't done enough--_ the thought was tired and worn in his psyche.

 _Maybe after this, we can stop having to bury people._ The thought of no death and world peace was a childish hope, and it felt to Desmond as if he were a misled teenager again, wanting killing to stop because it was as simple as 'everybody should just drop their guns' along with their beliefs and prejudices that seemed so ingrained that it would take decades with a sanding block to ever get rid of.

 _Baby steps_ , he reminded himself. The journey of a thousand miles began with a single step.

The van stopped, and the smell of seawater became pungent as Desmond's inner thoughts were interrupted.

"We're here," William announced, standing from his seat beside Desmond and moving to open the back of the van. Desmond and the others followed; the dock was in sight. And in it, sat the _Altair_ _II._

"This is a ship?" Connor looked to the _Altair II_ in both awe and confusion. "Where are the masts?"

"It's motorized-- as most things are in this day and age. The mechanics of steering and the like are roughly the same, it's just propelled by technology, rather than the wind," Shaun answered. "It provides more ample opportunities to sail, rather than waiting for the exact right moment for the weather to perfect itself." Connor's eyebrows raised.

"You named a ship after me?" Altair looked to Desmond, and then to William, the curiosity in his eyes seeking answers.

"Don't be needlessly arrogant," Malik elbowed Altair. "They're obviously naming it after the star, in the Aquila star system." Connor looked to Malik.

"It seems that the assassins are forever connected to the eagle and its freedom. I had a ship named _Aquila_. My mentor's name was Achilles-- and when...Those Who Came Before took me on a spirit journey, they used the form of an eagle to guide me along my path."

Malik's eyes widened. "It seems that one life does not provide enough mysticism, so that we will have to endure another."

"I do not understand." Connor's brow furrowed.

"They actually _did_ name the _Altair II,_ and its predecessor after Altair, the Master Assassin," Rebecca interrupted. "Where do you think they got Altair's name, in the first place?" Rebecca smirked as Malik rolled his eyes-- Altair was all but outwardly mocking Malik for the fact that _someone named a ship after him_.

"I am honored." Altair turned to William, an arm coming over his chest in a salute.

"Tell that to Gavin-- the captain." William's gaze locked on the ship, Gavin standing on the edge of the deck, waiting to meet them.

Gavin cast a guarded gaze to the group, crossing his arms in anticipation.

"Are these the anomalies that you were talking about?"

 _"Not very friendly, is he?"_ Yusuf muttered to Ezio, who grit his teeth and dug his elbow into Yusuf's ribs. Despite the cool, blue aura of the fellow Assassin, Ezio could sense the caution the man emitted. When an assassin was cautious, they were more than ready to attack. _"He is a Brother, Ezio,"_ Yusuf mumbled.

 _"So is William, but that didn't stop him from brandishing a weapon as Altair and I came out of the Temple."_  

"As I said, it was better you saw in person what I meant," William answered, walking closer to the edge of the dock. Gavin's face was unreadable as he turned, beckoning the group to come aboard.

"Let's get you all inside-- it's freezing."

"You can say that again," Shaun grumbled. They made their way to the deck of the ship; William walked to Gavin, offering him a salute and an embrace.

"It's good to see you all in one piece," Gavin offered as he and William released the hug.

"To you as well. How's the crew?"

"Tolerating, as ever. We were mighty surprised to hear from you," Gavin paused. "When the world didn't end, we'd assumed you were successful, but when you didn't make contact afterwards..." Gavin shook his head. "We thought you were dead, Bill." William nodded in understanding.

"It's a long story. Let's get settled in, first. After that, I can tell you everything."

"That's the thing, William. I have a long story of my own that could very well be an element of yours."

"What are you talking about, Gavin?" The group behind William shifted, unease growing among them. Desmond shivered. He tried to will away the creeping exhaustion in his limbs, yet it was adamant. Rebecca put an arm around his shoulders as she saw his discomfort. He looked to her in gratitude, leaning into her touch.

"Why don't  you come below deck?" Gavin turned, leading William and the others into the ship. The _Altair II_ was a labyrinthine network of hallways and rooms-- Desmond was surprised that anyone could get around without getting lost. The assassins who lingered below deck murmured between themselves as they passed. Desmond caught too little of it to determine whether it was in scrutiny or curiosity.

"I'm surprised, Gavin," William said as he matched Gavin's gait. "You took to seeing five Assassins who _should_ be dead rather well." William had the growing suspicion that Gavin's relative calm reaction to the ancestors had something to do with whatever Gavin had to show him.

"You'll see why," was all Gavin offered. He turned another corner, opening a door that opened to the navigation and meeting room. As they filed in, William stopped shortly after he walked through the door. He blinked. He blinked again. Before he could collect himself to muster a response to his fellow Assassin Leader, Altair gasped, a single word coming from his lips as he moved forward.

_"Maria."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bloop bloop bloop so that's another update! I'm coming up on the start of another semester at university in about 4 days, so I may not update again for a while. Maybe my (belated) New Year's resolution can be to update this fic regularly, and finish it by the end of the year. I've been thinking of ways to keep up on writing, so I hope they work out.
> 
> I've had a lot of people ask if any other people/ancestors will make an appearance, and I'm going to have to cut it off at Maria Thorpe. As much as I love Edward, Shay, and anticipate that I'll love Arno, they've come into the series after Desmond's arc, and they wouldn't fit into what I have planned for this story. (I'd love to see them all in the present day, but that's a story for another time.)
> 
> Though there wasn't any Templar action in this, in my growing affection for Juhani, I made a playlist for him, and you can listen to it here: http://8tracks.com/illogicallogician/suomen-poika
> 
> I've also copied this story to FF.net, and will post updates to this story there, as well. If you prefer FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10956790/1/To-Defy-the-Laws-of-Mortal-Beings
> 
> That's about all I have for now, so I hope you've enjoyed the latest chapter, and as always, you have my unconditional gratitude for your support and patience with me and this fic.


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